


The Home of the Wild Things

by MPantrochilles



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: A little angst, Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, M/M, Pansexual Character, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, a lot of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 35,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7042867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MPantrochilles/pseuds/MPantrochilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Desolé, Papa,” she sniffs as he coos and kisses her hands, telling her that as long as she is okay, he is okay. The man still hasn’t noticed Porthos, but Porthos is staring at him, dumbstruck. He knows him.<br/>“Now what do we say, Nannette?” He asks, finally turning to Porthos. His grateful smile drops and his mouth falls open slightly.<br/>“Merci, Monsieur…” Nannette says to him, her voice trailing off as she realises she doesn’t know his name.<br/>“Porthos,” her father supplies, and then his grin returns- “This is Porthos.” </p><p>Porthos returns to Paris after eight years away with the army, and he runs into an old friend who he hasn't seen in a very long time. A lot has changed in four years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunited

Porthos had missed Paris. He’d missed the random combinations of old and new architecture; he’d missed the smell of coffee and fresh bread that followed him around the city. He’d even missed the look of disdain that the Parisians were so good at. But most of all he’d missed the rain. It was an odd thing to miss, he knew, but after eight years in a dessert where you’re sweating seconds after you step out of the shower because it’s just so unbearably hot- he felt like he could justify it. 

His headphones drowned out almost everything- he could hardly hear the rumble of traffic over Bach as he strolled by with no particular destination- but it didn’t drown out the high-pitched screech that made him whip his head around so fast that he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. At first, he couldn’t see what- or rather who- had made the noise. An elderly woman looked down with such a look of disgust it was as if she’d stepped in a pile of excrement- Porthos followed her line of sight. She had not stepped in excrement, but was stepping around a child in a bright yellow raincoat, who had fallen- face down- into a puddle. 

Immediately he ran to the crying bundle of yellow, who was too focused on screaming at the top of their lungs to even try and get up. He bent over and lifted the child, setting her firmly on her feet, but keeping a firm grip around her waist so she didn’t trip and fall again. She must have only been about three- maybe four. Her blonde curls, now covered in the sludge that coated the streets of Paris, clung to her face. Her cheeks and nose were bright red, probably from screaming so loudly, and there was a tiny cut on her forehead. She’d stopped yelling in favour of staring at Porthos- shocked that this stranger had helped her instead of one of her parents. He pulled off his headphones and smiled warmly at her. 

“You okay?”  
Her momentary shock was gone, and her lips formed the saddest little frown Porthos had ever seen. She sorrowfully looked down at her knees- her white tights were now an ugly brown- the lady birds printed on them no longer a bright red- and there was a rip on the knee. She’d only grazed the skin, luckily- Porthos was sure there would have been more screaming had she cut it. 

“Where is your Mamon?” Porthos asks, and she looks up at him again, the confusion evident on her face.  
“Papa?” He asks instead, and she turns around, looking back the way she came. At that moment, a large pair of hands lifts her from Porthos’ grasp.  
“Nannette! What have we said about running ahead?” Porthos hears her father say, and he’s sure he recognises the voice. He stands and watches as Nannette pitifully holds her hands out in front of her father’s face.

“Desolé, Papa,” she sniffs as he coos and kisses her hands, telling her that as long as she is okay, he is okay. The man still hasn’t noticed Porthos, but Porthos is staring at him, dumbstruck. He knows him.  
“Now what do we say, Nannette?” He asks, finally turning to Porthos. His grateful smile drops and his mouth falls open slightly.  
“Merci, Monsieur…” Nannette says to him, her voice trailing off as she realises she doesn’t know his name.  
“Porthos,” her father supplies, and then his grin returns- “This is Porthos.”  
“Aramis,” Porthos dead pans, and the other man’s smile drops slightly. Nannette does not seem concerned by the fact that her stranger saviour is in fact not a stranger at all.  
“It’s been years-” Aramis starts, but Porthos cuts him off.  
“Four.”  
“Four,” Aramis nods. He has the decency to look guilty. Nannette holds out three fingers in front of Porthos’ face.  
“I am four!” she announces proudly, and Porthos holds his hand in front of her, with four fingers up. She focuses on her own hand and lifts a fourth finger with a considerable amount of effort. The smile Porthos gets when she finally achieves it is contagious, and he cannot help but smile back. Aramis smiles at the little exchange, and then looks up at the sky. 

“We should be going or you’re going to catch a cold,” he says to Nannette, but his eyes keep flitting to look at Porthos. This Nannette notices.  
“Monsieur Porthos will come too?” She looks between the two men. Porthos clears his throat.  
“Merci, mademoiselle, but I’m not sure your father-”  
Nannette grabs her father’s face in that endearing way that only small children can so he’s looking at her instead of Porthos.  
“Papa,” she says very seriously, and raises her eyebrows. It’s funny seeing an expression usually reserved for parents on such a tiny child. He looks at her and sighs.  
“If Monsieur Porthos would like to come with us, he has an invitation.”  
Nannette turns to her new friend with a winning smile that not even Mary Poppins could say no to.  
“I would like that.”  
She grins and tugs at Aramis’ collar.  
“Let’s go home.”


	2. Full House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos meets the family.

It turns out that their home is only around the corner from where they were standing in the rain. He smiles when he sees it- an old church converted into two flats. It’s just such an unbearably predictable place for Aramis to live. He thinks to himself that some things will never change. Nannette wriggles out of Aramis’ grasp and runs into the entrance and up the stairs. Aramis breaks the silence between him and Porthos by calling out to her.  
“Nannette I have keys don’t ring the-” Nannette jumps up to hit the bell and it rings out impossibly loud. “Doorbell,” he finishes, shooting Porthos a smile, which Porthos half returns. 

Porthos expects a woman with a large ring on her finger and hair as blonde as Nannette’s to open the door- he is surprised when a teenage girl does instead- a woolly hat covering her head so only the ends of her very short bob are sticking out from underneath it. She takes one look at Nannette before she glares at Aramis.  
“Papa you let her run ahead again- every time she ruins her tights.” She notices Porthos then and turns back to Aramis with an eyebrow raised. “I’ll give her a bath.” She grabs Nannette’s hand and drags her into the house- telling her to take off her shoes and then run into the bathroom because she needs to bathe. Nannette giggles and then groans- she had a bath this morning.

Aramis leads Porthos into the kitchen after closing the door behind them and hanging up their coats. He dumps the rucksack by his feet and sets about washing his hands and then putting the kettle on.   
“Tea?” he asks belatedly, while pulling out a bag from his rucksack.   
“Please,” Porthos says, watching as Aramis grabs a plate from one of the cupboards and then deposits the pastries that were in the bag onto the plate. He looks around the kitchen- there’s a photo on the wall but he hasn’t got his glasses on so he can’t make out who is in it. He suspects Aramis, his wife, the teen and Nannette. Though there are more than four human shaped blobs. Extended family maybe?  
Aramis sits across from him and hands Porthos his tea. Immediately, Porthos’ hands go to cradle the mug.   
“How have you been?” Aramis asks quietly, smiling, but only a little.  
“You never said you had a kid. Or a wife. And the older one has to have been born before you got deployed.”  
“I suppose she was, yes,” Aramis smirks and Porthos looks at him incredulously.  
“I didn’t have a kid, or a wife, before I was deployed. I still don’t- have a wife, that is. I’ve got kids.”  
“I can see that,” Porthos deadpans, and Aramis laughs. Porthos tries not to ask the insensitive question- how are they here then- but it must be evident on his face. Aramis always was good at reading him.

“They’re adopted. All of them.” Amaris turns to the photo on the wall. Porthos is kicking himself for not sticking his glasses in his pocket. He realises a bit late that Aramis says “all” and not “both”, because at that moment the “all” decide to make themselves known.   
“Aramis, you really shouldn’t have,” teases a boy, as he takes a pastry from the plate in the centre of the table and puts it in his mouth in one go. He’s got short brown hair and mischievous eyes that are looking expectantly at Porthos.  
“Excuse me, Monsieur, but you are sitting in my seat.” The teenage boy laughs and Aramis looks embarrassed. Porthos follows the voice and looks down at the child tugging on his sleeve. He’s older than Nannette and looks like a cherub, his blonde curls falling low on his forehead. He looks like Nannette- maybe they are really related.  
“Rene, can you not sit somewhere else?” Aramis implores with the little boy. He turns to the teenager, who has just stuffed another pastry in his mouth. “Would you leave some for our guest, Luke?” Porthos chuckles at Rene, who looks like he’s been betrayed.

“But Papa!”  
“It’s okay, little man, I’ll move- where would you like me to sit?” Rene looks up at this giant with a rumbling voice and scar across his eye with a beaming smile.  
“Next to me,” he decides, and Aramis clears his throat. “Please,” Rene adds. Porthos moves and sits in the space next to Rene, who clambers up onto the chair and then grabs a sweet. A squeal is heard from the doorway, and all heads turn to see Nannette, in a dressing gown- hurtle into the room, followed by a child identical to her- and then a soaking wet teenager- the one who opened the door. Luke laughs at the oldest girl as Nannette and Not-Nannette climb onto Aramis’ lap. The only difference between them is Not-Nannette has longer hair.

“Was it you or Nannette having a bath, Celeste?” Luke sniggers, and Celeste glares at him, grabbing a pastry. Aramis splits one in half for the twins on his knees.   
“Bonjour, Monsieur Porthos,” Nannette greets him around a mouthful of pastry. Luke stops trying to steal Celeste’s pastry and Celeste almost drops it out of her hand.   
“Porthos?” Luke looks between Aramis and the stranger at his table. “As in The Porthos?”   
Porthos raises an eyebrow at Aramis. So he’s spoken about, is he?  
“Yes, Luke, The Porthos.” He clears his throat and looks apologetically at his friend, before looking around confused. “Where is Leon?” Porthos can’t quite believe that another person can fit in the flat. Is Leon the boyfriend? Husband? Another child? Aramis said “no wife”, but he didn’t say “no husband”. Then again, with the amount of kids in the room already, another kid is more probable. 

“Here,” comes a small voice from the doorway. The boy looks about nine, and reminds Porthos of himself at that age- his afro is tied into cornrows and he’s tall and skinny like a bean pole.   
Leon moves to stand behind Celeste, looking at Porthos like he’s a specimen under a microscope.  
“So,” says Aramis, “this is everyone.” He taps the twins heads, “Adalyn and Nannette,” he points at everyone else, “Luke, Celeste, Leon and Rene.”   
“Full house then,” Porthos grins and Leon nods.  
“You’re telling me.” There’s a moment when he looks like he’s scared of getting told off, but then everyone laughs and he grins. Porthos watches Aramis as Aramis watches his herd of children, who go back to babbling loudly amongst themselves. He looks impossibly happy, despite the bags under his eyes- but those are a quintessential part of being a parent. His train of thought is interrupted by Adalyn. 

“Would you like to play a board game with us, Monsieur Porthos?” She looks hopeful, and Nannette has an identical expression on her face. He registers Luke and Celeste groan at the prospect.  
“I would love to,” he says, partly because he can’t say no to either twin, and partly because he’s missed Aramis. Kicking his ass in a board game will show him that, and will also help him get his own back. He’s pissed at him for ignoring him for the past four years, but he’s also just grateful to see him- to be part of his life again.   
“But no more of this “monsieur” business- just Porthos,” he adds. Aramis smiles at him.   
This is certainly not how Porthos imagined his day turning out, but this is better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, let me know what you think!


	3. Since You've Been Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos loses a game of risk.

Porthos loses the game of risk, and he loses badly. It brings far too much pleasure to Aramis, who won, and is now doing a victory dance around the room with Leon on his shoulders. The twins are laughing so hard that they are rolling around the floor by Rene; Celeste has a kind of bemused expression as she surveys the chaos, and Luke just looks disappointed. 

“The greatest soldier Aramis has ever known, and he’s not even a good enough strategist to win a game of risk,” he exclaims as he clears away the board. Porthos gulps and gives the boy a tight smile.  
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” he says and Luke snorts as if to say “sure, whatever”. Aramis notices Porthos’ discomfort and puts Leon down.   
“How about you all watch a movie while Porthos and I make dinner?” He looks at Porthos, who has his eyebrows raised. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” he quickly asks to try and avoid pressuring his friend- it’s not been forgotten that they haven’t seen each other for four years. Porthos smirks and gets up off the floor. 

“I’ll stay- so these lot aren’t subjected to your terrible cooking for at least one night,” he teases gruffly, and that earns him a jab to the ribs from Aramis and a defensive “hey, Aramis- Papa- can cook quite well” from Celeste, surprisingly. Aramis smirks and leads Porthos back into the kitchen, where he begins pulling bits and pieces out of the fridge, freezer, and various cupboards. Porthos stands back and watches him for a minute, leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. The kitchen is large- really the whole flat is large- it would have to be for seven people. The walls are a light yellow and Porthos wonders if Aramis painted them himself. 

“Are you going to just stand there and watch, or make yourself useful?”   
Porthos pushes off the wall and rolls up the sleeves of his pullover before washing his hands. Aramis sets a huge pile of vegetables in front of him and hands him a large knife. It’s enough to feed a small army- then again, in this house there is a small army of growing children.   
“Spaghetti bolognaise good with you?” Aramis asks with a shy smile. He knows that it’s Porthos’ favourite.   
“Always is,” Porthos replies. He often forgets how much smaller Aramis is than him, but he’s reminded now, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. Aramis is by no means short, but he’s slight- and as Adalyn pointed out earlier- Porthos is a giant. They work in amicable silence for a bit, and it reminds Porthos of being in the army kitchen tent together. Except this time he’s being supplied with red wine. Aramis takes a sip from his own glass as Porthos takes the one being offered to him. He drinks and puts it down again, chopping the last of the carrots and passing them to Aramis, who is cooking them away in what could easily be mistaken as a cauldron. 

“Celeste is still getting used to you being Papa?” He asks, and it seems to throw Aramis off for a minute before his easy smile comes back.   
“Yeah, after four years-” he chuckles, “but with the twins and Rene being here I think it’s a habit she picked up and has decided she rather likes.” He pauses and thinks for a minute before continuing, “I never asked to be addressed as Papa- I was introduced to them all as simply Aramis, but-”  
“But really you are their Papa.” Porthos finishes. Aramis looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.   
“So Celeste has been here since you came back- what about the others?”  
“Luke and Celeste were the first I adopted- after I came back. The authorities checked me out and I went to meet the kid they matched me up with- Luke. He was twelve, and liked me well enough- and after I’d seen him a few times he informed me that if I was going to adopt him, I’d have to adopt his best friend too. I’d met Celeste, she was eleven, and she and Luke were like siblings, I couldn’t split them up-”

“So you didn’t.” Aramis looked up at Porthos then and smiled.  
“So I didn’t.” He continued with his story. “Then came Rene, Adalyn and Nannette- maybe a year and a half later. I went to the orphanage expecting to bring home one child- Luke and Celeste had thought another kid in the mix would be good- and brought home three.”  
“You couldn’t split them up,” Porthos agreed, smiling at his friend. He was glad the size of his heart had not shrunk from the day they’d first met.   
“I couldn’t! I couldn’t break up a family! The twins were barely a year old and Rene- at only three- was their protector, who wouldn’t sleep in a different room to them, let alone be adopted separately to them. He still doesn’t sleep in a separate room.” Porthos chuckled, and Aramis grinned. 

“Leon has been here nine months. He’s painfully shy but incredibly witty-”  
“And he looks like you,” Luke interrupts to tell Porthos. Aramis looks at the boy and he seems slightly hurt. Luke notices- “not that that’s why he’s here, obviously, Aramis is just annoyingly nice and likes adding to his gaggle,” he jokes, and grabs a bottle of juice out of the fridge before leaving again.   
Porthos bumps Aramis’ shoulder. “You are annoyingly nice.” Aramis grumbles his thanks and continues cooking. 

“How long have you been back?” Aramis asks.  
“Six months and seventeen days,” Porthos replies, a little too readily. “You would have known if you’d replied to my messages.” Aramis looks guilty and drains the last of his wine.   
“I’m sorry.”  
“I know. Still doesn’t say why you didn’t respond. I’d thought you’d switched numbers or didn’t use that email or something.”  
“All the same still.” Aramis grips the counter edge and looks down at his knuckles. “I guess I didn’t want to-”  
“Didn’t want to keep in touch with your best friend. Wow. Thanks.”

“Didn’t want any connections to that part of me!” Aramis says a little too loudly and slams his palm down. He continues more quietly. “You should understand that- I thought you’d understand that the most out of everybody- and I’m sorry that even after I sorted out my head, I didn’t reply because I’ve had my hands full if you hadn’t noticed- and every time I went to write back I didn’t know what to say- and I’m sorry.” Aramis is breathing heavily and he takes a minute before he stirs the meat in the pot again. He goes to move around Porthos to get a spoon to taste it, but Porthos places his hands on Aramis’ shoulders. Aramis looks up at him, not really sure what to expect. But then Porthos says “I know” and Aramis can’t help but pull his friend in for a hug. Aramis buries his face in Porthos’ neck and Porthos closes his eyes, just glad to have his friend back and have him back for good- he hopes. 

They stay like that for a few minutes until Aramis remembers that he has children to feed. They finish cooking with another glass of wine and plenty of jokes between them, and it honestly feels like no time has passed.   
Leon appears and shows Porthos where everything is to lay the table, and the eight of them eat together. Porthos helps with the washing up, gets suds in Celeste’s hair as she’s finally taken off her hat, and even helps put the kids to bed when they (very nearly) fall asleep on the sofa next to him while they all watch another movie. Soon it’s just him and Aramis in the sitting room, finishing the last of the wine. Porthos’ tongue is feeling a little looser after the alcohol. 

“Why did you adopt them all?” He asks as he shrugs on his coat to leave. It’s late but he probably should head back, rather than crashing on their sofa for the night. Aramis stiffens.  
“I think you know.”  
Porthos looks at him steadily and bites his bottom lip. Aramis looks at him like he’s begging him not to ask anything more. Porthos nods and wishes Aramis good night, hugging him before he steps out into the damp night, promising he’ll come back soon.   
He makes the walk home, and when he gets into his tiny flat, he feels twice as lonely as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you thought of the chapter! Thanks for reading!


	4. The New Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos picks the kids up from school.

_“Porthos?” Aramis whispers, and Porthos rolls over to look at him. It’s pitch black and Porthos doesn’t need to see Aramis to know that he’s crying. He can hear it in his voice.  
_

_“Aramis don’t do this to yourself. Not your fault,” he whispers back and reaches his hand out into the space between their beds. Aramis grips his fingers tightly._

_“_ _It is. It is my fault.” Aramis says it with such conviction, that Porthos almost believes him. It was not his fault; it was the fault of the superior officers. They had told them to go ahead and attack with their soldiers. The superiors had been fed false information. It had been a civilian village- there was one gun in twenty houses. That was for shooting animals to get them off their crops. Two shots had gone off before they realised. “I left them without parents. I left them to bury their parents.” Porthos feels sick. He has since that day. He remembers the look of horror on the children’s faces, and he remembers the screaming grandmother, and he remembers Aramis cursing himself for being a good shot, cursing his hands. He remembers the rest of the troops leaving, but waiting for Aramis who was repeating the only word he knew in Pashto to the grieving family. He’d told Porthos later that if he only said “sorry” until the day he died, it still wouldn’t be enough. They are only twenty-two and he feels far older than he should. He grips Aramis’ hand tighter. Aramis asks Porthos what orphanage he grew up in in Paris- because one day he’s going to right his wrongs._

Porthos shook his head, trying to clear it. That was the first year that they were out there- fourth year being in the army. Aramis had stayed for five more, and then he was sent home. Porthos had stayed for four more after that. And at thirty-one, he feels ancient, compared to “too old” at twenty-two.

It’s been two days since he’s seen Aramis- they were reunited on Sunday, went for coffee on Wednesday morning which turned into staying for lunch and then dinner, and it’s now Friday- and Porthos still misses him. They’ve been texting and Porthos isn’t afraid to smile at his phone when he sees Aramis has replied.

Today, Aramis has invited him over for lunch- it will just be the two of them since the kids are at school. Aramis opens the door in a flowery apron. “Perfectly punctual, as always.” He leans in and kisses both of Porthos’ cheeks, like any Parisian does. It makes Porthos laugh. Aramis shuts the door and goes back to whatever he’s cooking- whatever it is, it smells delicious, and Porthos goes to hang his coat up on a peg. He notices then that each peg has a name above it, and he hangs up his coat on Aramis’ one. He follows his nose into the kitchen, and stands behind Aramis, crowding his space a little, but the other man doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

“Fish soup?” He asks and Aramis pulls away to go and get a spoon so Porthos can taste it. Porthos moans when he does, and Aramis would be lying if he said he didn’t like that sound more than he likes fish soup. And he likes fish soup. A lot.

“Good?”

“I forgot how good you are at cooking.”

“I guessed that when you insulted me the other night and Celeste had to come to my rescue!” He tuts and flicks the spoon that Porthos is holding in front of him, so it hits him in the face. Porthos laughs and wipes the soup off his nose and onto Aramis’ apron.

“Thanks for that,” he laughs- it’s a rumble that comes from deep in his chest and Aramis has to stop his inner twenty year old self from emerging and reminding him of all the reasons he had a crush on (read as: was in love with) the man in front of him- for two years, maybe more. When he finishes cooking, he sets some aside for Leon- it’s his favourite, he tells Porthos- and then the two men have no issue finishing the rest of it off. By the time they are finished and have washed up, it took a while- there were too many stories to tell, it’s late enough for Porthos to head off because Aramis has to go and pick up the children from school.

“Why don’t you come with me, you’ve been pretty much the only topic of conversation in this household since Sunday. They’d love to see you.” He scratches the back of his neck- his tell when he’s nervous and Porthos knows it so he stops as soon as he realises. Aramis knows Porthos isn’t scared of the kids like others have been over the years, and he knows Porthos isn’t going to up and leave him alone because of the kids, but he’s still cautious. Call it social conditioning.

“Yeah, why not?” Porthos agrees with a toothy grin- it’s almost endearing how nervous Aramis is. Aramis visibly relaxes and grabs their coats and his keys, and the two of them head out to get the little ones. Apparently Celeste and Luke would “die of embarrassment” if they got picked up from school. Aramis mimics their dramatic antics perfectly.

They stand by the school gate with the other parents, and Aramis is mortified by the fact that all the other mums keep on looking at Porthos and then turning back to their little circles to discuss who he is and whether he’s Aramis’ boyfriend and if he’s single. He’s apologising to Porthos again, who is finding the whole situation rather funny, when they get interrupted.

“Porthos?” They both turn around to see a smiling Anne. Porthos grins and hugs her- “I haven’t seen you in years!” Aramis hugs her as well once she’s let go of Porthos and has stopped berating him. Honestly, how could he have not emailed her the minute he got home? Is he back for good? Porthos tells her he’s sorry and that yes, he’s back for good. Anne gives Aramis a sly glance and a smirk before telling them that she’s awfully sorry but she has to rush off to go and pick up Louis. They both wave bye and Porthos asks what the smirk was for, but Aramis brushes him off with a quick and high pitched “nothing” so Porthos changes the subject.

“Louis doesn’t go here?” Porthos asks and Aramis looks at him as if he’s mad.

“As if her husband would allow that. Not a private school for his precious boy? No way - so he goes to the international school down the road- but she wanted him to go here. That’s how I knew to send my lot here- if it has her recommendation then it’s bound to be good.” His voice has dropped to its normal pitch again, thank God. Porthos nods thoughtfully in agreement, and then the bell rings. Rene has Adalyn and Nannette holding his hands, and Leon herds them along from behind.

“You moved him from his old school?” Porthos asks, watching the older boy. He knows how orphanages work- the kids move to different parents, and if it’s possible, they stay in the same school to maintain a level of normality in their lives. Makes it easier if they get given back.

“He asked to be moved.”

At that point, the four of them spot Aramis and Porthos and come running. Well, the twins and Rene run- Leon tries to pretend he’s cooler than this but the small smile on his face shows he’s still excited.

“Papa! Porthos!” The other mothers get momentarily distracted from their own children. The children know him and are excited to see him so he must be the boyfriend. Or an uncle or old friend of sorts but boyfriend is so much more fun. Porthos braces himself for the impact as the twins run into his legs. He picks up both of them and they hug his neck, and Aramis- who has Leon holding one hand and Rene holding the other- is looking at Porthos in a way he hasn’t before. It’s a mixture of pride and something Porthos can’t place. Porthos smiles at him and his eyebrows furrow slightly, which makes Aramis blush in self-consciousness. He looks to the boys.

“Shall we take these princesses home then?” Porthos asks. He makes a mental note to ask if Aramis is alright later when they are alone again. Leon and Rene nod and giggle along with the girls, and Aramis swears he sees one of the mums swoon out of the corner of his eye. He’s not surprised, in fact he empathises- Porthos is great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and I'd love to hear what you thought about it!


	5. Aramis Likes Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and Luke have a heart to heart.

Porthos loves that Friday evenings in the House of the Wild Things, as he’s taken to calling Aramis’ home, are fantastically ordinary. In the first few months after they came back, D’Artagnan had dragged him, Athos and Constance all over Paris to weird, and sometimes wonderful but mostly weird, venues every Friday night. Being only twenty-eight, while the others were impossibly old and in their thirties, he had the energy for it and was keen to see Paris for all it was. After all- he’d come from Gascony, he’d followed Constance back to Paris; he was not as used to it as the rest of them were.

But in the House of the Wild Things, same as the week before, after Porthos and Aramis picked them up from school, (they insisted after he came last Friday that he has to come pick them up every day- Aramis had tried to tell them that they couldn’t expect Porthos to do that- but Porthos claimed he didn’t mind and had nothing better to do anyway) the children sit down around the table and do homework- or the older ones complete as much of it as they can. The only person who doesn’t complain about having to do his homework is Leon. The others only promise to do it if Porthos sits with them, and then the older ones complain and grumble about the noise so they go to work in their room.

“Porthos will you help?” Leon asks, looking up from the homework he’s been tasked to finish by Monday morning.

“I’m not good with school, never was I’m afraid, kiddo.” Porthos tells him, very apologetically, and then hears Aramis snort. He glares at the back of his head. Aramis is making some sort of fish dish- it’s a Friday and he is a Catholic after all- and Porthos’ stomach is grumbling despite the massive lunch they had.

“That’s a lie,” Aramis says. “Leon what homework is it?”

“English,” the little boy says dejectedly, scrunching up his nose.

“Porthos is good at languages- he can help.” Leon looks at Porthos so hopefully, he pulls his glasses out of his cardigan pocket and puts them on, shifting over to help him. He should be able to do translations for a nine year old now really. Leon’s homework is finished within five minutes, much to his pleasure, and he’s allowed to go and do whatever he wants- which is apparently scouring the bookshelves for the thickest tome he can find, and then lying on his belly in the middle of the kitchen to read. Rene practices his alphabet while the girls continue to draw, and Porthos realises that Nannette has included him in the picture. It’s only been two weeks since he’s been part of their world, not even two weeks. But when your life has only been about 208 weeks long, he guesses that two weeks is a long time.

Porthos still has his glasses on when he’s chatting to Rene about what he learned at school that day, and Aramis takes a deep breathe through the nose. He didn’t realise how loud it was until Porthos turns and looks at him which is brow furrowed and lips slightly turned down. That look always means “are you okay?”

Aramis schools his face into a smirk. “You look like a grandpa with your glasses and cardigan on,” he teases, and Porthos rolls his eyes to turn his attention back to Rene. _You look really good with glasses and a cardigan on_ , is what Aramis actually wants to say.

“Papa likes people with glasses,” Adalyn announces to no one in particular, continuing to draw. “And he likes cardigans.” Aramis turns red and Porthos raises an eyebrow and laughs. Aramis looks up and prays that he’ll get out of this with minimal teasing.

“Does he princess?” Porthos asks, and Aramis wants to melt into the floor like the butter is melting in the pan he’s hovering over. Porthos’ voice is full of mirth and Aramis wishes he could keep it together enough to whack him with a spatula.

“Mhmmm,” she agrees, not bothering to look up at the man she’s conversing with. “Papa has lots of cardigans and his other friends have glasses.”

Aramis’ eyes go wide and its pure fear that keeps him rooted to his spot. He’s glad he’s turned away from Porthos so he can’t see his face. He hadn’t gotten a chance to tell Porthos about… the other ones, the topic hasn’t been addressed yet, and he really didn’t want his four year old to tell those stories for him.

 “I’ll have to meet these friends with glasses.”

Aramis nearly chokes on the wine he’s just taken a sip of. It’s Luke who comes to his rescue as he enters the kitchen to grab a snack.

“No you won’t, Aramis doesn’t really have any friends outside of you and Anne. And now D’Artagnan, Constance and Athos I guess.”

“Have you been looking at my messages?” Aramis looks at his oldest son in shock, and he can’t tell if he’s more shocked or annoyed. Porthos tries very hard not to laugh.

“Sometimes,” Luke shrugs in answer to Aramis’ question, taking a bite into his apple. “But yeah Aramis doesn’t really have other friends.” Aramis thinks he can relax now.

“Nah occasionally he just has “adult company” who stay over,” Celeste adds as she walks into the room. Aramis wishes a hole will open up in the floor and swallow him up, damn the stew. What’s worse is the older ones know what that is, and they are laughing about it. In front of him. With Porthos in the room. Oh dear lord.

“Oi you two, stop making fun of your Papa,” Porthos chastises, and Aramis might faint. Luke looks at Porthos, almost too stunned to speak. Celeste looks on edge and her fists curl up into balls. Porthos quickly realises what he’s done. “Sorry- Aramis. Don’t make fun of Aramis.” He winces as Luke mumbles a “sorry” and storms out, Celeste running after him. Porthos has to restrain himself from swearing.

Leon sense something is wrong, and takes the little ones out of the kitchen and shuts the glass door behind him. Once Porthos is sure no one can hear him, he gets up and leans on the counter next to Aramis, who is aggressively chopping herbs. He won’t follow Luke- at times like this it’s best for Celeste to help.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Aramis,” Porthos says, not really sure what else to say.

“Luke remembers his parents. He was ten when he got put in the orphanage, because there were no aunts or uncles or grandparents or god parents. It’s always been clear that I am not his Dad and I won’t try to be, I’m like an uncle there to look after him after,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, “after the accident.”

Porthos swears again and rubs a hand over his face. Aramis continues.

“Celeste only doesn’t mind calling me Papa because she never knew her parents. They left her on the church steps near the orphanage when she was two weeks old- like something out of a Dicken’s novel.”

“I’m gonna go apologise,” Porthos says. Aramis smiles weakly at him- that would be a good idea- and then watches Porthos leave. He was his best friend for a reason.

Porthos walks past the little ones, who are wisely minding their own business in the living room, and knocks on the door that says “Celeste and Luke” in bright blue letters. It’s Celeste that answers, and she slips out so he can’t see or hear anything happening inside.

“What do you want?” She says, her chin held high. Porthos has to admire her for her loyalty. She used to like him- she told Aramis and Aramis told him- but the minute he hurt her brother she is cold as ice. He decides he likes her even more than before. She’s only fifteen, but she’s brave.

“I would like to apologise. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and should have been more careful with my words.” He looks down at her as sincerely as she can. She frowns and then moves away from the door. That was easier than Porthos expected. She slides down against the wall next to the door. She’ll be waiting to make sure. Porthos walks into the room and shuts the door quietly behind him. Luke is sitting on his bed, holding something carefully in his hands.

“Celeste, if it’s Aramis, tell him to fuck off I’m fine I just need a minute and it’s not his fault- and the stupid boyfriend isn’t worth his time if he leaves.”

Porthos bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself smiling. Yes, he likes Luke and Celeste. Brave ones. Luke turns around at that point.

“Oh. Well you can fuck off too.”

“I’ve not got any intentions of doing that,” Porthos says quietly, dipping his head slightly.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to come and say sorry. I should have been more careful with my words.” Luke grumbles something that sounds like “ya think?” and keeps looking down at the thing in his hands. It’s a photograph.

“Your parents?” Porthos asks, taking a step closer to the bed, but not going any further. Luke nods and then crumples helplessly. Porthos thinks it’s like watching a star implode.

“Can I sit?” He asks quietly, and he gets another nod.

“I get it-” he begins but he really should have chosen different words.

“No you don’t! What the fuck? How could you even begin to get it- don’t give me the bullshit about divorced parents because that is nothing- at least both your parents are still alive!” Luke really doesn’t care about hurting anyone today, that much is evident. He’s glaring at Porthos, back in the offensive once more.

“They’re not actually.” Porthos keeps his voice perfectly level.

“Oh shit, well, sorry,” Luke mumbles. He doesn’t sound sorry. He doesn’t sound anything but empty, and Porthos understands that.

“I grew up in the orphanage you went to.” That sparks Luke’s attention, and he turns to properly look at Porthos. “That’s how Aramis knew about it. We’ve been best friends since our first day in the army- he knew everything about me.”

“I still remember my mum, though. Well, I remember her smile. I was three when she died.” Luke nods, at least he’s listening.

“So, when people came to adopt me, I told them they weren’t my Mamon or Mama or any of it, so I wouldn’t call them that.”

“Because it feels like a betrayal.”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get adopted?”

“Why I joined the army straight out of school.  I had no money and no place to stay for university.”

Luke nods, a small smile on his face. He opens his mouth to speak and then shuts it again.

“I love Aramis,” he finally decides on, “but-”

“You don’t need to justify anything. I get you. And don’t worry- it’s obvious you love him. First thing you said when I came in here made that evident.”

Luke scrunches up his face. “Sorry about calling you stupid.”

Porthos smirks, but he doesn’t notice that Luke doesn’t apologise for calling him Aramis’ boyfriend, even though he knows that the two of them are just friends.

“I won’t take it personally,” he says as he gets up. “Come on, dinner’s probably ready.”

The two of them walk out and Celeste looks just about ready to bite Porthos’ head off- if she could reach- until Luke nudges Porthos and says “thanks” quietly. Celeste blinks, trying to process what she’s just seen. The boyfriend is still alive? After dealing with Luke? When he’s angry? What the hell? She says as much to Luke, who just grips her hand and promises to tell her later.

Porthos looks behind him and smiles. He really should call Flea- he hasn’t seen her for a long time. He enters the kitchen where the table is set and the little ones and Aramis are all sitting, waiting expectantly for the three of them. They all looked shocked to see that Porthos is still here, in one piece. Luke smiles at Aramis, who visibly relaxes.

“There’s dessert right?” Luke asks as he sits, and just like that, everything is back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked writing this one. Let me know what you think!


	6. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis and Porthos have a lot to discuss and a lot to remember.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Aramis quietly confesses into his mug, but Porthos knows he’s speaking to him and isn’t just very emotional about tea. The kids have all gone to bed, and once again, it’s just the two of them in the living room together, under a poorly patched together blanket that he suspects Aramis made.

“I didn’t ask,” Porthos replies simply, taking a sip of his tea. In all honesty he hadn’t been cross or annoyed or any of it when the children spilled the proverbial beans. It had hurt a little, yes, but it had only been two weeks and they had four years of catching up to do.

“I still feel bad,” Aramis says and the swallows. He’s looking at Porthos now, and he’s biting his lip and rubbing the back of his neck and Porthos knows how truly sorry his friend is. Some things never change.

“Why? We were never in a relationship and you are allowed friends Aramis,” he teases, settling his mug in his lap and using his fingers to make quotation marks when he says “friends”. He smirks when Aramis does. “Being friends with me never stopped you before. Even when we were sharing a room-” Aramis gasps and slaps his chest then, and Porthos laughs.

“I didn’t know you were coming back!” He defends himself. That had been a truly mortifying mood killer, the poor girl had upped and left the minute Porthos had tried to excuse himself and leave.

“I always came back- it was you who went off with every other Tom, Dick and Harriet that took your fancy!” Porthos laughs and Aramis blushes. He has a point. Porthos never brought back anybody- he flirted with plenty, but never brought anyone back. “Yeah, that got me in trouble enough times. And then one big time,” Aramis says, and the laughter falls away to seriousness again.

“Not your fault,” Porthos says quietly, and takes Aramis’ hand in his, squeezing his fingers. Aramis sighs and squeezes back, before pulling his hand away and downing the last of his tea.

“Never is when nasty bigots are involved- though I probably should also learn to choose my battles.”

Porthos can’t argue with that, but he also remembers how brave he thought Aramis was when he stood up to the old man who was so quick to insult Porthos.

_They had come back to base, and everyone had gotten a bit too drunk for their own good- partly to congratulate themselves on making it home alive, and partly to commiserate for the brothers they lost over those few weeks. The old general, who was as traditional as they get, had gotten nasty to Porthos. Not only was he black- but he was defective as well? Porthos knew he had to grin and bear it, and so he’d clenched his jaw and taken a swig from his bottle, ignoring the general. Aramis was not so wise._

_“I wouldn’t use the word defective,” he’d said, his words slurring slightly, but his voice was low and dangerous._

_“Aramis,” Porthos warned, reaching out to hold his friend back, but his hand was batted away._

_An argument had ensued, a bad one, and Aramis managed to out himself and just about every other LGBTQ+ person in the whole Garrison, all the ones that he knew of, anyway. And then, in jest, he’d blamed himself for “converting” them with his devastating good looks. The others had laughed, but the general took the joke all too literally. The general had Aramis called to his office the next morning, and he was asked to leave indefinitely. He’d held his head up high as he’d left. He went around to all those he’d outed and apologised- they all understood, though not all forgave. He couldn’t blame them for that- he’d done something unforgiveable- he’d jeopardised their safety and he’d broken their trust. He came to Porthos last. He hadn’t known what to expect, but Porthos had hugged and thanked him, and made him promise to write._

_He’d broken that promise within the week once he got home._

“They all forgave you eventually, you know. We talked about it the night I left,” Porthos told his friend, who was staring intently at the bottom of his mug. Aramis shrugged and refused to look at him, so Porthos lifted his chin with two fingers to make him look at him.“You stood up for me like always. How could I get angry at you for that?” His voice was soft, and Aramis was looking at him like he was about to cry. Aramis grabbed his hand, and let their joined hands fall into the middle of the two of them.

“Why did you leave?” Aramis asked, and Porthos raises an eyebrow- stupid question, the war was over that’s why he left. _I left two weeks before that_ , Porthos wants to tell him, but doesn’t. _To come and find you_. He opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a tiny voice from the doorway.

“Papa?” says Rene through his sniffles. He’s clutching a teddy bear and tears are streaming down his face and his nose is bright red. Immediately Aramis gets up and carries Rene back to the sofa, settling him in his lap and Porthos wraps the blanket around the little boy.

“A night mare, mon petit nounours?” Aramis asks, rocking the little boy in his arms. Rene nods and grabs the front of Aramis’ shirt, and buries his face in Aramis’ neck. Aramis asks if he wants to talk about it, and Rene shakes his head but asks for some milk. Aramis nods and Porthos gets up to go and get it for him. He makes sure to get Rene’s favourite mug. He comes back and Rene grabs the mug in his little hands and says a quiet thank you. Aramis watches him as he drinks, and teases him about the milk moustache on his upper lip once he’s finishes. That gets a smile out of Rene and soon he’s fast asleep in Aramis’ lap.

“I should go,” Porthos whispers, and Aramis looks up in confusion, but says if he has to then he should. Porthos kisses the top of Rene’s head and then Aramis’ cheek before he grabs his coat and heads out.

He really hates going back to his flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	7. Being a Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celeste and Luke learn what it means to be a soldier.

Two weeks later, Luke and Celeste storm into the kitchen with faces like thunder. They slam a letter down in front of Aramis.  
“It’s unbelievable Papa!” Celeste all but shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. Aramis looks at her, trying not to laugh, and avoids looking at Porthos, who is also trying really hard not to laugh. “Exams are in two weeks- and they are expecting us to go to some stupid career convention?”

“They are only mocks, Celeste,” Aramis tries to reason with her, but he just gets death glares from the two teens. He promptly shuts up. 

“What’s worse is that they are asking us to provide people for the damn thing! Shouldn’t the school be doing that if they want to run the bloody event?” Luke questions, and Porthos doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone peel an orange so aggressively. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind helping out-” Aramis starts but the two of them cut him off. 

“Aramis,” they deadpan, perfectly in sync, and Porthos has to stick his tongue in his cheek to stop laughing.

“What? Journalism is an... interesting... industry -”

“You hate journalists. They have journalists already. You are not a journalist- you just draw the political cartoons with shitty jokes.”

“Language!” Porthos says, covering Nannette’s ears, and telling off Luke. 

“My jokes are hilarious.”

“They are dad jokes,” Celeste says, unimpressed. She shows it by crossing her arms. 

“They get published so they must be good,” Aramis mimics her by crossing his arms. Leon snorts beside him.

“Touché,” Celeste replies, and Luke is staring at Porthos. 

“Porthos what do you do?” the boy asks, and Porthos flushes. He doesn’t have a job at the moment. 

“I'm unremarkably unemployed,” he says, hoping to get them off his case. But then Celeste gasps.

“But you were a soldier!” She says, and Luke smiles. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have a soldier.”

“Celeste-” Aramis warns. Aramis made it clear to them that he wouldn’t go and talk to other people about being a soldier, but he will answer their own questions truthfully. He doesn’t get too many questions any more. He looks at Porthos, whose expression has turned grim. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says to Celeste and Luke- he doesn’t want any chance of the younger ones hearing- they are too young for that. He doesn’t sound like he’s allowing any room for argument, but he still looks to Aramis, who nods that it’s okay. 

The three of them head out together, Celeste on his left and Luke on his right. They all have their hands stuffed in their pockets- the mildness of October has made way for a bitterly cold November. 

“I’m sure Aramis has asked you not to ask him to speak about his time in the army in front of others?” Porthos asks, and the two children nod. Luke just about comes up to his shoulder- he’s a little smaller than Aramis still, and Celeste is about a head and a half smaller than Luke. She looks tiny next to Porthos. 

“Did you ever ask him why?” Porthos asks, and they both shake their heads. 

“A lot of soldiers aren’t proud of what they’ve done to protect their country,” he says, and he notices how the two of them are looking intently at him while he stares ahead. “They may not regret it, but hurting other people is not something to be proud of. Not even when you disagree whole-heartedly with their morals, because you’ve got to remember the fall out. The people- the sisters, mothers, brothers, fathers, children- who get left behind.” Celeste is pointedly looking at her toes. Luke is still staring at him as they turn the corner. “Even if you think those people will be better off without the person you just,” he swallows, “hurt,” he decides is the best word to pick, “they may have loved them, and you took them away.” Celeste purses her lips and Luke blinks at him. They walk in silence for a bit.

“So you see why I don’t want to tell young kids that they should join the army,” Porthos says, and the two children nod.

“It’s not so great,” Luke says.

“It’s a lot to deal with,” Celeste adds, “especially at a young age.” 

“Eighteen is barely old enough to contemplate life and death in its entirety for a lot of people,” Porthos says, “so the choice of taking a life…” he trails off as someone walks past the three of them. 

“Yeah,” Celeste says quietly, and that’s seems to be the end of conversation. They make it back to the house, and while Celeste rings on the doorbell, Luke asks him a question that Porthos hasn’t thought about the answer to in a very long time. 

“What would you like to do?” 

Porthos thinks hard, and as Aramis opens the door, he looks down at Luke. 

“I’d like to play the piano, I think,” Porthos says, and Aramis beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual drill- leave comments!


	8. Moving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos moves in to the House of the Wild Things.

Porthos pulls on yet another jumper. It’s a week into December, it’s freezing, and his heater has decided to die on him. Again. It’s the third time in a month, and this time the hot water is gone too. He kicks the damn radiator and cries out in pain. It’s at that moment that his phone rings. 

“Hello?”

“Porthos, the kids and I were wondering if you’d like to come over for lunch?” Aramis’ voice is drowned out by one of the twins. 

“We’re having ratatouille!” 

“Ratatouille?” he asks, and winces as he takes off the three layers of socks he’s wearing to check if he’s bruised his toe. He hasn’t, but if he doesn’t put his socks back on, he might just lose all his toes to frost bite. 

“Yeah, they watched the movie and now they want to eat it,” he laughs down the phone while Porthos grunts. “Porthos are you okay?”

“I kicked the radiator and my foot hurts something evil,” he says. He's got his socks on again and he tests his weight on the foot. 

“You kicked the radiator,” Aramis deadpans, and he hears one of the kids laughing. 

“Damn thing broke and now my apartment is freezing.”

“Pack your stuff we’re coming over.”

“What?”

“Celeste! Put on your coat! We’re getting Porthos!”

Everyone, including Porthos down the other end of the phone, asks why. He can make it there himself, he has been for the past two months.

“He’s sleeping over here until the heating in his apartment gets fixed.”

Porthos splutters that he couldn’t possibly, but his protestations are ignored as the kids yell “YAY SLEEPOVER”. He resigns himself to the fact that he has no choice and gets up to start packing. He puts the phone on speaker and leaves it on his bed. Aramis seems to have forgotten that he’s still on the phone. 

“Why am I coming?” Celeste asks, and Porthos can imagine her indignantly pulling her hat over her ears. She hates the cold. 

“Because Luke is a better cook, so he can watch the pot, and you are stronger than Luke.”

Porthos chuckles as both Luke and Celeste shout at Aramis, telling him off for offending them.

“We’ll be there is fifteen minutes,” Aramis says to Porthos, and then hangs up. Porthos ends the call at his end, and gets packing. 

It’s almost pitiful that almost everything he has fits into three large rucksacks and a small suitcase. His old army uniforms and his certificates and books are in the suitcase, his clothes and shoes are in two of the bags, apart from the only nice suit he owns, which is in a suit bag. His lap top, sheet music, photos and everything else fits in the other bag. Then again, he is wearing a lot of layers, he tells himself as he sits on the bed, looking around is flat. It’s one room, with the bed up against one wall, and the kitchenette is on the opposite wall, and there’s a tiny round table in front of the cooker. Next to the fridge is a door that leads to the tiniest bathroom you can imagine. On the fourth wall, there’s a piano. It’s old, and the wood isn’t polished like it once would have been, but it’s beautiful. It was the first thing Porthos bought when he came back, and he plays it religiously.  
He hobbles over to get the door when he hears the doorbell ring. Aramis and Celeste are panting slightly from running up the stairs, but both are beaming at him. 

“We’ve come to rescue you!” Celeste says as she pushes past him into the flat. “Jesus it’s colder in here than it is outside!”

“Celeste!” Aramis chastises as he lets go of Porthos from his hug.

“Sorry,” she says, “but I am right.” She looks around the apartment, and then at Porthos. “You are a giant how do you fit in this hobbit home?”

“Celeste!” 

Porthos laughs and Aramis looks apologetically at him, but Celeste notices none of this as she looks at the piano. She strokes one of the keys, and Aramis and Porthos turn around and stop their discussion as they hear a note ring out. Celeste pulls her hand away like she’s been burned. Porthos smiles gently at her, and she looks intrigued by the piano. 

“If you want, I can teach you to play,” he says, his deep voice breaking the silence. 

“I wouldn’t be any good,” she says, and Porthos grins.

“That’s what I thought before I started.”

She shrugs and walks over to the bags. Aramis gives her the lightest bag to carry, while he takes another and the suitor, and Porthos takes the final bag and the suitcase. Celeste strokes the piano as she leaves, as does Porthos, and then they head back to House of the Wild Things.

They get odd looks as they walk down the street, but Celeste does impressions of the haughty Parisians that make them all laugh too much to care. When they get back, they drop Porthos’ things in the living room, and sit down in the kitchen with everyone else- Aramis at one end with Porthos to his left and Leon to his right, and Luke at the other with the twins on either side and then Celeste and Rene next to them. The warm ratatouille is just what they needed, and everyone compliments Luke, who blushes and tries to brush them off, saying that all he did was serve it- but he still looks a little bit proud when Aramis says well done. 

It’s Saturday afternoon, so the little ones have to be taken to their various clubs while the older ones stay home to do whatever work they have to. Celeste takes the living room, while Luke spreads his stuff out over the kitchen table- near the food. 

Aramis heads off in one direction to take the twins to gym class, and then Leon to art, and Porthos takes Rene to ballet. This has been the arrangement for a few weeks now, and Porthos has gotten used to the ballet mums trying to rope him into buying cookies or cakes or wrapping paper for various school events- he’s even gotten used to the ballet teachers- who are possibly the most dramatic couple he’s ever met. 

He helps Rene into his leotard and tights, and then does his shoes for him. Rene giggles the entire time, as he can hear the teachers yelling on the other side of the door.  
“What do you mean she can’t make it?” Comes the high pitched shrill of Madame, who then continues to yell at her husband in fast Italian.

“My darling, my sweet, she is eight months pregnant- she can barely sit comfortably, much less play, and we knew that she would stop having to work for us after the baby-” her husband sounds like he’s on his knees and begging.

“Yes! After the baby- not before! The Christmas show is in two weeks! We need a pianist!”

“I’ll play, my love.”

“You are no good.” 

Porthos tries not to laugh. Rene pulls at his sleeve. 

“Porthos, why don’t you play? Celeste says you play.” Porthos wants to tell him that he’s sure they’ll sort it out, but Rene has already run to the other side of the door, calling for the Madame. She appears moments later, looking down at Porthos who is putting Rene’s clothes in his bag. 

“Rene says you play?” She looks at him like she could squash him, despite the fact that she is only five foot and weighs as much as a feather. Porthos is inclined to believe her. He stands to his full height and clears his throat. 

“I do.” 

She nods, and her husband appears and hands him the sheet music. It’s the Nutcracker. He smiles; he knows this piece well. 

“You play to my standards today, and you have a job,” the Madame informs him before calling in the children. Rene turns back and smiles at Porthos, before running in with his friends. 

Porthos is reminded of his first summer job as he plays and stops playing to the instructions of the Madame, so she can correct every pointed toe and every misplaced hand. Every now and again, he gets a glimpse of Rene, who looks like he’s having the most fun anyone could have. He’s been proudly telling everyone that it’s his Porthos playing the piano.  
By the end of the lesson, Porthos has a job playing for the class, and a couple of the other parents have asked if he’ll teach their children- for a fee, of course. He agrees to all of them, exchanges email addresses, and Rene is bouncing up and down with excitement. Wait until they tell Aramis. 

When they get home, Rene immediately rattles off his tale of how Porthos is saving the Christmas show, and how he’s even going to teach some of his friends the piano. Aramis is thrilled, and Celeste asks if she’ll have to pay Porthos for lessons- he ruffles her hair and tells her of course not. 

“Where are you going to teach them?” Aramis asks, and Porthos hesitates.

“Surely they have pianos? If not then I guess in my flat?” 

Luke chips in at that point. “The tiny flat with no heating and radiators that bruise toes?” Porthos frowns.

“Why doesn’t Porthos live here?” Nannette asks. “All of his things are here already. He can sleepover in your room, Papa.”

Everyone is quiet as they wait for Aramis’ verdict. “Porthos and I will talk about it.”

That evening, they do talk about it. Porthos will split the rent with Aramis, they’ll put two singles in Aramis’ room- Porthos insists that he can sleep on the sofa and Aramis can keep his large bed, but Aramis is having none of it- “if this is a permanent arrangement, you cannot be sleeping on the sofa”. They’ll keep the piano in the living room, by the window, and Porthos can teach there on whichever evenings he needs, and the kids will just have to stay out of his hair for that one hour. 

Porthos hands in his keys to his landlady the next day, and he and Aramis move the piano to its new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual- let me know what you thought and thanks for reading!


	9. It's Not a Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis, Porthos and the kids plan a dinner party.

The eight of them tumble through the door and into the flat in a flurry of noise and laughter. The Christmas show went as well as one can expect a dance show of five to ten year olds to go, but, as Aramis keeps on reminding him, Porthos played _brilliantly._ He rolls his eyes and shrugs off the compliments, but he feels more proud of himself than he has in a very long time.

Rene has gotten so used to saying “my Porthos” in front of all of his friends at ballet that he forgets to refer to him as anything else at home. Porthos hangs up everyone’s coats on their pegs- the children had flung them in the general direction of the adults, too keen to get into the kitchen because they are too excited about Luke’s promise of hot chocolate- and Aramis has run into the kitchen after them to avoid a disaster. He smiles when he hangs his own coat on his own peg- it’s a physical symbol that he belongs here. He walks into the kitchen, and Rene is excitedly telling everyone, for the hundredth time, how his Porthos had heroically played a part of the piece twice so one of the girls had a chance to do her bit, because she forgot to run on stage the first time.

“And then, my Porthos-”

“Now now, Rene- Porthos is our Porthos,” Aramis chastises, and Porthos hears the twins making loud sounds in agreement, and he registers the other three children nod, but he’s too busy trying not to blush as Aramis smiles warmly at him. When he finally looks away, more than a little embarrassed, Celeste is looking at him- lips pursed, slightly squinting, with her hands clasped together in front of her on the table. She looks like a detective on a mission, and Porthos has to hook a finger under his collar to stretch it out, giving her a shaky smile. She raises an eyebrow and then looks away at Leon, who is shyly tapping her shoulder to get her attention. She looks at him with the same expression she gave Porthos, and he almost imperceptibly shrinks back, but she quickly schools her features into a soft smile and strikes up conversation.

Porthos sits down in Aramis’ place, which does not go unnoticed by the children or his friend who has just turned around with the last two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands- one for him, one for Porthos.

“Well I never!” he exclaims, and Adalyn giggles. “The insolence of it all!” He continues, mock glaring at Porthos, who smirks.

“What are you going to do about it, old man?” Porthos teases, relaxing back into the chair. He’s pretty sure he hears an “oh damn” from Celeste.

“Old man? I am two months older than you!”

“So you’ll be forty before me.” Porthos is grinning, and the children are laughing, and Aramis looks like a fish out of water- his mouth opens and closes multiple times, trying to come up with a witty retort. He decides against it, and instead just sits in Porthos’ lap, dropping his weight into him. Porthos makes a sort of “oof” sound before laughing.

“You’ve put on weight in your old age.” That earns him a slap to the chest. The children had stopped paying attention, but they are now, and Luke and Celeste are giving each other a _look._ Leon frowns.

“Aramis, aren’t you a little old to be straddling Porthos?” He says “straddling” slowly- it’s a new word he doesn’t know how to use yet. Porthos’ eyes widen and Aramis blushes to his roots. Luke is coughing and spluttering, trying to swallow down his hot chocolate and not laugh all at the same time, which the younger ones find endlessly funny. Leon looks confused.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing sweetheart,” Aramis says, and pauses as he tries to find the right words.

“Aramis is sitting in my lap- not straddling it- you straddle a horse or a chair- you get the difference?” Porthos provides, and Leon nods. Celeste snorts and Aramis glares at her in the way that says _don’t corrupt your younger siblings,_ so she says nothing more. There’s a few moments of blissful, innuendo free silence until Aramis speaks up.

“I know, since you lot have broken up from school now-” he’s interrupted by Luke.

“Finally!”

“Yes finally- and Porthos has moved in, and since Rene did so well today-” little Rene beams at his Papa, “why don’t we have a congratulatory, celebratory little Christmas party kind of thing?”

“When?” Celeste asks, “and who would we invite?”

“The 23rd,” Aramis says. “Two days from now. And we can invite Athos and D’Artagnan and Constance- and Anne and the Louis’, if they’re around. And Abuela will be here- her plane lands that morning!” Aramis had asked his mother to Christmas this year- he and his sisters had a rota- and this year, he is lucky enough to have her with him. He’ll need the extra help, even with Porthos around.

“I haven’t seen your mum in years!” Porthos says quietly, as he does every time it’s mentioned that she’s coming for Christmas.

Celeste nods, it seems like a good idea. “The house will be fully decorated by then, right?”

“How about we do that tomorrow?” Porthos asks, and the twins cheer.

“I’ll call them then,” says Aramis, whipping his phone out of his pocket and leaning into Porthos, whose breath hitches unintentionally, but no one notices. Porthos pushes Aramis off his lap and herds the children into the living room. He half shuts the kitchen door, and Aramis can hear as he starts to teach the kids how to play Christmas carols on the piano.

He sticks all the mugs and the hot chocolate pan in the sink, and sets about calling his friends, sticking his phone on the window sill above the sink on loud speaker.

By the time he’s gotten to round to drying everything up, he’s gotten confirmation from D’Artagnan and Constance, and Anne has told him that she and Little Louis will be able to make it, but not her husband. He’s working, apparently. Finally, he calls Athos. It goes to answer phone.

“Hi Athos! It’s Aramis- look we’re having dinner and drinks on the 23rd at our place, and it would be great if you could-”

Athos picks up the phone.

“You’re throwing a dinner party.”

Aramis makes a face. “No, it’s dinner and drinks and Christmas games for the kids if they want them-”

“A dinner party. You’re throwing a dinner party.”

“No! Dinner parties are for couples. This is just me and Porthos and the kids inviting friends round for Christmas- a joyous time of year to be spent with loved ones.”

“Fine. A Christmas dinner party.”

Aramis pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an irritated sigh. “It’s completely platonic dinner and drinks.”

“Just like that last completely platonic dinner and drinks that you invited me to when I was home on leave for a week?”

Aramis winces at the memory. That was how his last relationship ended, roughly two years ago. He’d been dumped, in front of all the kids- Leon hadn’t been here at that point- and the guests, half way through.

_He and Marine-Isabeau had agreed beforehand that they’d say they were just friends- completely platonic- to avoid any probing questions from his mother, who was staying for a week in Paris. She still asked, as mothers always do._

_“What did you say your parents do, sorry?”_

_Marine-Isabeau had snapped at that point._

_“Aramis, I can’t do this.”_

_Everybody looked at her, confused. Even the twins, aged two, stopped babbling on the living room floor, because something was wrong._

_“We have to break it off.” She continued, and his mother had covered her mouth with her hand._

_“Oh Isabeau, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-” his mother started, but Isabeau had held her hand up to stop her talking, as if she were a child. Celeste had to physically restrain Luke- he’d never liked this pretentious girlfriend anyway- he didn’t want to hurt Aramis’ feelings so he didn’t say. But now she’d been rude to Abuela. (Aramis’ mother had never insisted that she were called “grandmother” by the children, but none of them minded. She was a fantastic woman to call grandmother.)_

_“I can’t take the pressure of this anymore!” She said to Aramis, gesturing to the kids. “This family life! I’m not ready for it!” Aramis nodded calmly. He was expecting that. His last boyfriend had said the same thing, though thankfully more privately. “And when I do want to be a mother, I want to be a mother to kids who are my own!” He winced and Celeste and Luke looked more shocked than angry. Rene was hiding behind Celeste, scared but luckily not really understanding what was being said. The twins were gathered up into his mother’s arms._

_“And, if I’m being honest, I’ve met someone.” He blinked at her dumbly. He was really trying not to cry. He wasn’t sure if it was more embarrassment or if he was genuinely upset._

_“Isabeau- could we talk-”_

_She shook her head. “He’s less likely to cheat on me you know. Because he’s straight. There’s a smaller target audience.” She looks slightly smug, and it makes Aramis feel sick._

_Aramis can count on one hand how many times he’s seen his mother get properly angry- not “angry at the man running the fish stall in the market because he wouldn’t lower the price of the king prawns”, but proper rage. This is one of the moments where she is properly angry. She even swears, but in Spanish._

_“How dare you,” she says quietly, dangerously. “How dare you insult my son, in his home, in front of his children? How dare you insinuate that he would be unfaithful- when it was you?”  Marine-Isabeau immediately looks less smug. Aramis is just glad that Anne and her husband couldn’t make it, so it’s just them and Athos._ Oh my god, Athos _, he thinks. This was meant to be a relaxing welcome home dinner party for him. “I think it’s time you left.” His mother says, her voice more level now._

 Athos was standing in the living room doorway with the bottle of wine from the kitchen so the adults could share it out between them, and Marine-Isabeau pushed him out the way, storming out of the house in floods of tears. Aramis had put on a smile for the rest of the evening, but cried into his pillow once everyone went home. The kids had piled in with him that night.

He’d asked Athos not to tell Porthos about that disaster of an evening.

“Athos _please_ ,” he laughs, “I am The Heterosexual, you know that. Nothing happening between me and Porthos.”

“You are a rampant pansexual and we all know it,” Athos deadpans. 

“Guilty as charged. Just tell me, are you coming or not?”

“There’s booze, I’ll be there.”

Aramis huffs in exasperation. “It’s so nice to know you love us.”

“There’s an us now?”

“DEAR GOD ATHOS, ME AND THE KIDS, HONESTLY!” Aramis all but yells down the phone, throwing his hands up in the air. He just knows that Athos is smirking. He can see it in his mind’s eye- he’s brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt and smirking.

“Whatever you say, Aramis- oh and by the way- did you ever get around to getting two separate beds?” Athos drawls, and then hangs up on him before Aramis gets the chance to answer back. He glares at his phone. They hadn’t yet- mainly because they couldn’t afford it at that minute and had needed to save up money for Christmas presents for the kids, and also, they didn’t really need it, did they? They were good enough friends, and grown up enough, to sleep in the same bed, none of that “no homo” nonsense (which wouldn’t make sense anyway, since the both of them are very, very gay). And also, they’ve slept in tighter spots together when they were out in the field.

He’s aggressively drying up when Porthos walks into the kitchen, looking a little sheepish. Aramis puts the mug away and starts pottering around to get dinner ready- comfort food would be good today, he thinks- so he grabs everything together to make paella.

That evening, while he and Porthos are changing to get ready for bed, Porthos is oddly quiet.

“What’s up?”  Aramis asks, and he turns to look at Porthos, who rubs the heel of his hand over the scar on his left eye.

“I was just wondering,” he starts gruffly, “if I could invite Flea and Charon over on the 23rd? They’re going to Flea’s mum’s place for Christmas, so I won’t get to see them until the New Year, probably.” He pulls a shirt over his head, and for a second Aramis thinks that it’s such a disappointment that he does.

“Yeah sure!” Aramis says, unsure of why Porthos needs to justify himself. “It’s your home and your party too you know.” Porthos breathes out like he’s been holding his breath for years- it’s like watching a mountain move. Porthos smiles at him gratefully before going into the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth. Aramis is already in bed when Porthos lies down.

“Thanks,” Porthos says quietly, before rolling over and falling asleep.

Aramis is still awake at one in the morning.

“Porthos?” he whispers, and Porthos immediately rolls over to look at him.

“Yes, Aramis?” he whispers back, sleepily, and Aramis thinks he looks like a piece of art with the shadows of the stain glass window above them casting strange patterns over his face.

“I’ve had two relationships since I adopted Luke and Celeste.”

“Okay.”

“One just after I adopted them. It lasted five months. He broke it off because he wasn’t ready to be part of a family.”

“Okay.”

“The other was a year after I adopted Rene, Adalyn and Nannette. It lasted two months.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “She still managed to cheat on me, in that time frame. I don’t know why I liked her in the first place.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Porthos grumbles, and Aramis laughs quietly.

“That is the last thing I want to do.”

Porthos snorts, and then he holds his hand out into the space between them. Aramis reaches out and squeezes his fingers.

Aramis wakes up the next morning with his head on Porthos’ chest, and Porthos’ arm around his waist. He doesn’t think he’s ever woken up happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill :)


	10. One Short of the Von Trapp Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis' mother arrives, and the dinner party happens.

When they go to pick up Señora d’Herblay from the airport, Porthos is one hundred percent sure that he still has glitter in his hair, beard and moustache from the day before. He wasn’t even aware that they had glitter in the house, but here he is, after two showers, getting glitter on his hands after running them over his face.

_He hung the snowflake that Leon had designed in front of the window, and then turned around to look and see if anyone else had finished theirs. He had been left with the little ones, while Luke, Celeste and Aramis went out to “go get some stuff”- the kids had shuffled from foot to foot, looking like they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and so Porthos suspected that they were probably doing a last bit of Christmas shopping._

_The flat looked like something out of a children’s story book. The Christmas tree stood tall in one corner, covered in tinsel and hundreds of baubles, with a huge golden star hanging precariously at the top. The fireplace, though not functional, had labelled stockings for all of them nailed to it. Aramis had presented Porthos with his that morning, with great pride, and Porthos beamed so hard it felt like his face might split in two._

_There were fairy lights framing every window in every room, save for the bathrooms. It had taken a while- there were the three kids bedrooms, then the study, his and Aramis’ bedroom, the kitchen, the living room- and the kids had insisted on doing the top of the front door as well. Porthos wouldn’t be surprised if the electricity in the rest of the neighbourhood cut out because of them._

_Rene was sat arranging the nativity and other various decorations on the bookshelf, and Leon was showing the twins how to make paper snowflakes. Porthos kneeled down next to them- and half way through telling them “wow, you guys are really good at this!” Adalyn popped open the glitter. It exploded. Everywhere._

_They managed to clear up most of it by the time the other three came home, apart from Porthos._

_“I’d always thought you’d hated Edward Cullen and his glittery vampire ways,” teased Aramis. “But really you just wanted to be him!”_

_Porthos had growled and then pounced, tackling Aramis to the floor and tickling him. Within about five seconds, the rest of the children, apart from Leon, had joined in. They stopped for a second, a mess of tangled limbs, and Aramis had stuck his hand out to the boy, who smiled weakly as he took it. He was then attacked by the rest of the family, and was soon laughing as hard as the rest of them._

He’s brought out of his reverie when the children start shouting and running ahead. “Abuela, Abuela! We came to get you!” Leon stays by Porthos, firmly gripping his hand.

Señora d’Herblay is elegance personified- her dark brown hair, the same colour as Aramis’, is streaked with grey, and her eyes are lined with kohl under perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her red coat- the same one she’s had since Aramis was ten, he tells Porthos- is tailored to fit and looks brand new, and her black kitten heels shine like the light is coming from within them. Her lips are stained a dark red, and she is so effortlessly put together it makes anyone who can see her instantly jealous.

“Mis pequeños!” She replies, unceremoniously dropping her handbag, hand luggage and suitcase to the floor. She crouches and the twins go running into her arms. She hugs them close and kisses their cheeks, leaving lipstick stains which she then tries to rub off with her thumb. She gives the same treatment to Rene, and then Celeste, and then Luke. She is smaller than Celeste, and so she has to pull Luke down just to reach his face.

“Not so little anymore,” she says to Celeste and Luke, and pinches their cheeks. She looks so immensely proud. Porthos, Aramis and Leon have caught up with her by this point, and she turns on Leon.

“Hello, Corazon,” she says to him. He blushes and smiles. “Can I have a hug?” She asks, standing as tall as she can at five foot one, and holding out her arms. Leon nods and lets go of Porthos to squeeze her tight. She takes his face in her hands and kisses his nose, before looking at his hair.

“You’ve changed your style?” she asks, her French is perfect, but spoken with a strong Spanish accent. Leon nods, looking pleased that she noticed. He asked Porthos to take it out of the cornrows about a week ago, and has left it out naturally since. He turns to look at Porthos.

“Just like Porthos, Abuela,” he says as he pats his head.

“Ah, yes, very handsome,” she agrees, smiling down at him and then smiling up at Porthos. She tucks Leon under her arm, and then turns to Aramis, who greets her with a kiss on the cheek. She pats his jaw, a little harder than necessary, and tells him to go and get her bags. Is he so useless that he’s letting his children do it? She says it in French to make Leon laugh.

“Nice to see you too, Mama,” he says and grins cheekily at her, and then does as he’s told. Señora d’Herblay begins to walk, letting Leon run back to Aramis as she takes Porthos by the arm. He obliges and they walk back to the minivan that Aramis has hired for the day.

“I haven’t seen you in a very long time,” she says to Porthos, in Spanish, looking up at him briefly and then back ahead at their rather ugly mode of transportation. She doesn’t seem to mind it, and if she does, she doesn’t make a comment. She is a sensible woman; she would rather have her grandchildren safe, than be in some stylish sports car.

“Aramis says you got back in April?” she comments, and Porthos suddenly realises he’s stopped counting the days since he’s been back. He’s stopped counting days to big events as well- he’s been doing that since he was a kid. 

“I did,” replies Porthos, using the same language she does. She had taught him Spanish for a reason, she expected him to use his words.

“And you moved in just this month?”

“Si, Señora,” he replies, and she hits his arm lightly.

“None of this Señora business,” she tells him. “As you did before, you call me Tía. Just because my son is an idiot, it does not mean you stopped being part of the family.” Porthos smiles at her. “Actually, you should probably use Suegra now,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Señora, I mean Tía, it’s not like that- Aramis and I- it’s not that kind of relationship-” he stumbles between French and Spanish, and Señora d’Herblay just gives him a _look_.

“To add to the children’s vocabulary,” she says, and he stops sputtering.

“Surely that might end badly and confuse them?” He asks, and she waves away his words with her hand.

“Nonsense. Any Spanish they learn is good Spanish.”

Aramis catches up with them as Porthos helps the Señora into the van.

“So what were you talking about?”

“Oh nothing of importance,” Porthos says, and he only notices when Aramis raises an eyebrow that he’s still speaking Spanish.

That evening, the children take it in turns to open the door, while Aramis and his mother finish cooking in the kitchen, and Porthos tries to organise the chaos. The children are dressed in their best- the clothes their Abuela got for them on their last birthday. Leon can’t stop fiddling with his flowery tie, and the twins keep on making themselves dizzy by seeing who can spin the fastest and make their dress flair out the most. Celeste is dressed in slacks like the boys, sans the tie, but she does have a silver sparkly bow in her hair. Abuela wouldn’t let her wear the hat.

Athos is the first to arrive, and already Porthos has given up with his tie and cufflinks, and his dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows. He smirks, and hands Porthos the wine he brought as a gift.

“I might need this later,” Porthos jokes, pulling him into a hug, but it doesn’t last long because the children are keen to grab his attention and play host and hostess. He lets them, and introduces himself to Leon, who is clinging to the back of Porthos’ shirt.

Soon the other guests arrive. Anne looks like she’s ready for the red carpet, rather than dinner at a friends’, and the twins are fascinated by this princess. Rene and Louis disappear to go and play the minute they see each other.

The children all introduce themselves to Constance and D’Artagnan, and Aramis runs out to great them. He’s rather shocked by Constance’s pregnant belly. “You didn’t say anything! Oh mi Dios, congratulations!” He asks all the usual questions of when she’s due and if she knows the sex of the baby- to which Constance replies “no we don’t, because it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Aramis beams and leads everyone into the kitchen at some point to meet his mother, who somehow manages to reach up and hit him over the head with a rolling pin, because she was left to do all the work.

Porthos panics as it gets later and Flea and Charon still haven’t arrived- but in reality they are only half an hour late, and when they do arrive, they apologise profusely for getting lost. When Porthos lets them go from the bear hug he greets them with, the children are lined up behind him, trying to get a look at who these people are. They all agree that Charon looks like some sort of fairy with his multi-coloured dreads, and Flea is an angel, with gold threaded through her plaits and gold glitter shimmering on her dark skin.

“Luke, Celeste, Leon, Rene, Adalyn, Nannette,” he points at each kid as he introduces them. He then points at Flea and Charon.

“This is Flea, and this is Charon, we’ve been friends since we were really young” he tells the children, and they wave at them. Charon laughs.

“You’ve got enough for half a football team!” says Charon, and Flea laughs.

“It’s like the Sound of Music in here!”

“Actually,” interrupts Leon, “we’re one short for both of those.” It’s at that moment when Louis appears, and Flea raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“This is Louis, and he’s not one of ours,” says Aramis as he appears in the hallway to say hello. Only Porthos notices his slight unease and is micro-second long pause before he says ours. He’ll have to ask about that later. Charon and Flea give each other a _look_ – the one that Porthos has seen on far too many faces and is very confused by.

Throughout the evening, there’s a constant stream of food and drink, and the adults try to subtly slip each other presents, for the kids and themselves. Aramis is tense for a while, but when Athos puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and tells him that his party is a success, he relaxes and manages to enjoy himself.

There’s a moment where Porthos and Aramis are standing in the living room doorway, and D’Artagnan suddenly stops what he’s saying, looks at them and laughs. Everyone looks at him oddly- maybe he’s had a little too much to drink?

“Look who’s under the mistletoe!” He manages to say between giggles, and Constance rolls her eyes at her husband.

“Honestly, you’d think you were still a teenager!” she teases.

“Can’t break the mistletoe rules,” Anne says with a twinkle in her eye, and Aramis’ mother agrees.

“Mama, you have never, ever kissed someone under the mistletoe.”

“I had my reasons,” she says, and Aramis raises an eyebrow. “They were all old and ugly. Porthos is neither.” Everyone laughs at that, and she turns to Celeste, warning her to never kiss men under the mistletoe. Celeste promises with a kind of secret smile that makes Porthos wonder if she’s got something to tell her family, and Aramis mutters something about favouritism.

“Aramis you have to kiss Porthos now,” says Leon- always one to take things literally.

Aramis laughs and Porthos turns to Athos, who just smirks and holds up his drink as a toast. That earns him a withering glare from both of them.

“Oh honestly, Porthos, you’re acting like you never kissed anyone before!” sighs Flea in exasperation.

“And we know that’s not true!” Charon adds, waggling his eyebrows, and Porthos frowns at him. He swore they would never talk about that horrifying moment during their last school dance, when his date- a friend he’d taken because neither had anyone to go with- decided that she wanted to stick her tongue down his throat. On the middle of the dance floor. In front of everybody.

Porthos was mortified to say the least.

Everyone is still looking expectantly at him and Aramis, who exclaims that he "honestly doesn’t know who stuck the damn plant in the door way anyway” and then pulls down Porthos for a peck on the lips. It’s probably the sweetest kiss Porthos has ever had, and he thinks _it’s over too fast_. He startles at his own trail of thought. Everyone cheers, Aramis bows, and then leaves to go and get dessert from the kitchen. Celeste and Luke follow him, looking smug, and Porthos is left standing in the doorway, a little shell shocked, while everyone goes back to their conversations. Athos smirks at him, and Porthos rolls his eyes, before he’s pulled away by Rene who wants him to play the piano, so he can show Louis and Abuela his dance from the show.

It’s three o’clock when everyone leaves, and that’s only because Flea and Charon remember that they have an early train to catch, and then everyone else realises the time. Anne has to pry Louis away from Rene and the twins- the four of them had somehow, Porthos suspected with the help of Celeste and Luke, managed to push the three beds together to make one giant one, and fall asleep in a heap. They all whined as Anne lifted Louis away, but he was quickly asleep on her shoulder, and the other three were back to normal.

Luke and Celeste help their Abuela change the three youngest into pyjamas while Porthos and Aramis clean up. Leon tries to help, but just gets told to brush his teeth and go to bed instead. Aramis kisses his mother goodnight before she heads to bed- he’s glad there’s a bed in the study for when he works late, because otherwise sleeping arrangements would have been impossible.

Porthos and Aramis are standing in front of the mirror in their bathroom, brushing their teeth, and Porthos is looking at Aramis, while Aramis is ignoring his intense stare by looking at himself. Porthos rinses out his mouth and wipes his face with a towel, before turning on Aramis.

“Louis is yours, isn’t he?” he asks, very quietly. For once, his expression is unreadable. Aramis nods.

“You and her…” Porthos starts, but lets the sentence trail off. Immediately understanding what he’s implying, Aramis shakes his head so fast that he looks like one of those dolls with a bobbing head that you stick on the dash in a car. He rinses his mouth and dries his face, before turning to Porthos.

“She and her husband were having trouble conceiving.”

Porthos nods, and leans against the bathroom counter. Aramis runs his hand through his hair, and then leans next to Porthos. He and Anne had known each other in Spain- Aramis’ mother was her family’s seamstress, and the two of them had become very good friends when they were very young. She and Aramis had moved to Paris together- he joined the army, and she went to study history of art. While they were still in France, Aramis made sure to introduce her to his new friends. When she got married, at the tender age of twenty three, she’d made sure that the wedding was when Aramis, Porthos, and Athos were all on leave- she couldn’t get married without her three best friends there.

Constance and D’Artagnan became part of their group a few years later.

“She invited me over for dinner one day, when I was on leave. Its half way through dessert, and they ask me if I’ll be a donor.”

“And you said yes.”

Aramis nods, hanging his head so his chin almost hits his chest. “I couldn’t say no to her. But that’s why her husband avoids me at all costs now.”

Porthos says quiet for what seems like an eternity, and then walks out of the bathroom. Why hadn’t Aramis told him before? This had to have happened, what? Two years before he left the army? Louis’ a little older than Rene, but they’re in the same year at school. And then it clicks.

“I’m the only person who knows outside of you three, aren’t I?” he turns, and Aramis is so close behind him that his nose is practically touching the hollow of Porthos’ neck before he takes a tiny step backwards and nods.

“Couldn’t have anyone else knowing. High society drama and scandals and all that,” he says with a shrug, and Porthos nods. He will never understand why the other half live the way they do, but he’ll be Anne’s and Aramis’ secret keeper without question.

They get into bed and Aramis whispers “merry Christmas eve” with a smile, and Porthos returns the sentiment before Aramis promptly falls asleep.

But Porthos can’t stop thinking about the way Aramis kissed him, and how he called the kids “ours”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to a dear friend of mine who helped me with this chapter.  
> Oh, and suegra means mother-in-law :)


	11. Christmas in the Home of the Wild Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of love to go around at Christmas.

On Christmas morning, Porthos wakes up to the smell of churros, two seconds before Aramis is woken up by the herd of children who jump into bed with them. He groans jokingly as they shout “merry Christmas” at him, and then gathers them all in for a hug with a soft, “joyeux Noel, mes poulettes”. Porthos is lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, watching them all with a gentle smile. Aramis sees and smiles back, before whispering something to the children, who then give Porthos the same treatment they gave their papa. Once they are quite sure they’ve sufficiently squashed Porthos, the six of them settle around him and Aramis. The twins sit in Aramis’s lap, Rene is sitting on Porthos’, Leon lies between them and Luke and Celeste sit cross legged at the end of the bed. They stay there in silence for seconds that feel like hours, simply enjoying being so close together.

Aramis’ mother walks in then, a tray full of fresh churros and warm chocolate sauce in her hands. She beams at the sight of her family. Porthos thinks this is the first time he’s seen her without any make up on, in her fluffy dressing gown and matching fluffy slippers. Her hair, however, is still in an elegant chignon at the back of her head, as always. She places the tray in the middle and strokes Luke’s hair fondly, before telling them to eat up and there’s more in the kitchen.

They do eat, and the breakfast tray is clean in record time, even with all their laughing and joking. Every now and again, Porthos catches Aramis looking at him, but he doesn’t say a word. When the last drop of chocolate sauce is gone, Porthos heaves out of bed.

“Come on, my wild things, we should go and keep Abuela company,” he tells them, and they all run out to the kitchen. He turns to Aramis then, who is still sitting in bed. He takes the tray and kisses his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Aramis,” he says quietly, and then he leaves. When he’s gone, Aramis sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He felt his stomach drop when Porthos leaned in to kiss him, and he knows what’s coming next. And he doesn’t want to stop it happening either. He hauls himself out of bed, throws a dressing gown on, and goes to the kitchen.

Once they finish breakfast- and everybody helps with the clearing up- they head to the living room to open presents. They all take the ones out of their stockings first, the small gifts from friends and neighbours and open them with delight. Soon, the floor is covered in wrapping paper.

The twins squeal in delight as their abuela hands them her presents. As usual, she has bought them flamenco dresses in their favourite colours. For all the other children, she buys a traje corto- the short jackets that bull fighters wear, and as usual, each individual one is embroidered in different colours, though they are all black. She stopped buying Celeste flamenco dresses aged twelve. Celeste had worn hers to school for a project about their family history, and had forgotten to take in her normal clothes in her haste to get to school on time- much to the amusement of every other child in school- though Luke did stand up on a table in the middle of the lunch hall and threaten to fight everyone if they continued to laugh.

For Aramis and Porthos, she bought beautiful matching ties, though the colours were inversed- Porthos with purple flowers on white, and Aramis with white flowers on purple. The two thanked her, and she patted their cheeks, saying “only the best for her boys”.

“Porthos you have to open ours now,” insisted Luke, who had a mischievous grin on his face. Porthos looked at him curiously, and opened the present he was handed.

“Parenting for dummies,” he read the title, and burst into laughter. “Nice to know you have such faith in me,” he tells Luke, and then ruffles the boys hair. Celeste rolls her eyes and hands him another present.

“Your actual gift from us,” she says, and bounces her foot impatiently as he opens it. It’s a white t-shirt with seven hand prints across the chest, getting smaller from left to right and creating a rainbow. Porthos traces over the lines on each hand, and sniffs in an attempt not to cry. “It goes Aramis, Luke, me, Leon, Rene, Adalyn, Nannette,” Celeste tells him, and he pulls her in for a hug.

“I love it,” he beams, and then reaches over to the pile of presents on the left of the tree. “For you lot,” he says, handing a present to each of them. The kids look at each other and then back at him. All the presents feel the same. “You remember when I was reading you Harry Potter and the philosopher’s stone?” he says, and their jaws drop.

“No way,” Luke mumbles, and then rips open the paper. The others all follow suit, and hold up the jumpers in front of them, before pulling them over their pyjamas.

“You got us Weasley Christmas jumpers,” Leon marvels, staring down at his red jumper with a golden “L” on it. Aramis laughs at the sight of them.

“Hold on I have to take a photo.” He grabs his camera from the coffee table, and gets them all to line up in front of the tree. “Oh this is one for the album,” he announces, grinning at the picture.

“You mean the album you never actually get round to putting together?” teases his mum, and he grins- albeit a little guiltily.

“About that,” says Rene, and crawls under the tree. “For you, Papa.” He proudly presents Aramis with the gift, and Aramis opens it more keenly than the children opened theirs. On the front of the photo album is a picture of the seven of them smiling, huddled up together on the sofa. Porthos took that photo.

“You never get around to it,” Celeste says as she hugs Aramis, who lets a tear trickle down his face. Nannette crawls into his lap and kisses it away.

“We did it for you instead, Papa.”

They continue opening presents once Aramis has his moment- a shawl for his mother; a new hat for Celeste; the family cook book for Luke- who beams and squeezes Aramis so hard it could break him; new art supplies for Leon, who looks a little overwhelmed by the amount of presents he’s received today- the children all opened their presents from each other earlier; new ballet shoes for Rene; a princess dress for Adalyn and new ladybird tights and matching fairy wings for Nannette.

He hands Porthos a tiny box.

“What’s this?” Porthos laughs and shakes the box. “Not jewellery I hope.”

“Porthos you are literally wearing earrings right now,” says Celeste, who looks entirely unimpressed.

“An earring, my dear. An earring. Subtle and understated- unlike Aramis.”

She rolls her eyes and tells him to just open the box before Aramis bites through his lip. Porthos does, and is surprised to find a key.

“It’s your home too,” Aramis says quietly when Porthos pulls him in for a hug. “You shouldn’t have to be borrowing mine or Luke’s or Celeste’s the whole time.”

Aramis’ mother throws her hands up in the air with a “oh my lord” as she walks in, dressed in a festively green dress, and then walks out again- telling the children to hurry up and get dressed so they can help her in the kitchen and also to clear up the living room.

“But Porthos hasn’t given Papa his present yet!”

Porthos blushes and looks at Aramis. “I’ll have to give you yours later,” he mumbles, and Aramis raises an eyebrow.

“I’m intrigued,” he replies, and Luke and Celeste make vomiting noises as they leave the room- only to be told off by their abuela. Porthos is sure that he’s bright red with embarrassment, and Aramis is hiding his face behind his hands.

After lunch and once everything is cleared up, Aramis’ mother informs him that she’s taking the children on a walk to the church. Her tone indicates no arguments, and the children scramble to grab their coats, hats and scarves. Not five minutes later, Aramis and Porthos are alone in the flat.

“Does this mean I get my Christmas present now?” he asks, and Porthos nods, talking Aramis’ hand and leading him to the living room. He sits down in front of the piano, and pats the space next to him on the stool. Aramis sits.

“Porthos, in case you didn’t realise, I do know we have a piano,” he teases. Porthos tells him to hush and close his eyes, so he does as he’s told. He hears a rustling of papers, and then Porthos starts to play.

It’s a beautiful piece, changing from major to minor, from slow to fast, and by the end of it Aramis has the cross that permanently hangs on a chain around his neck pressed to his lips, and he’s crying. He opens his eyes when Porthos runs his thumb over his cheek, wiping away his tears. He sniffs and gives the other man a watery smile.

“You finally finished it,” he whispers and Porthos nods, placing his hand on Aramis’ shoulder. When they met, Porthos was just getting started on composing. By the time Aramis left the army, Porthos still not finished his first piece- though it had changed an innumerable amount of times. And now, he’d finished it, and it was better than anything Aramis could imagine. He doesn’t quite understand what is going on still until Porthos hands him a pile of sheet music, bound together like a book. The first page is his first work- it’s dated on the top right hand corner. Aramis flicks through the book, his brow creasing until he finally gets to the last page- the finished piece.

He runs his fingers over the title.

“For my Aramis,” he whispers, and pulls Porthos into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he mumbles when he pulls away, and Porthos is smiling at him so warmly, and he just wants to kiss him.

It’s at that moment that the doorbell rings.

Later, Aramis is in the kitchen with his mother, drinking tea as Porthos puts the children to bed.

“You love him, don’t you?” she asks quietly, in Spanish.

“I think,” Aramis says, entirely unaware that Luke and Celeste are listening outside the door. “I think I always have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it (again, credit to my dear friend who helped with this chapter)


	12. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning- it gets a bit graphic violence wise for one of the flashbacks.

Athos looks away from the firework display that is replaying on the TV for the fifteenth time to check his texts at 12:41. He hates New Years and would rather be alone, all his friends know that- but they still let him know that he is loved. There’s the usual “HAPPY NEW YEAR! I WISH YOU ALL THE BEST FOR THIS COMING YEAR!” with a thousand kisses from Anne on the stroke of midnight, a missed call from Constance at 12:01, a “Happy New Year” from D’Artagnan with three party hats and a fireworks emoji precisely one minute after Constance’s missed call, and “Happy new year- Love, Aramis, Porthos and the kids x” at 12:06. There’s another text at 12:37 from Aramis: “I kissed him again.”

He replies to everybody else, wishing them a happy new year- he texts Porthos as well, before he replies to Aramis.

_You have to tell him. (Seen by Aramis at 00:48)_

_I can’t – would fuck everything up and I only just got him back (Sent to Athos at 00:48)_

_That’s entirely your fault. (Seen by Aramis at 00:48)  
Then don’t kiss him. (Seen by Aramis at 00:49)_

_I know. And I can’t do that either (Sent to Athos at 00:50)_

_So you have to tell him. (Seen by Aramis at 00:50)_

_Athos. (Sent to Athos at 00:50)_

_Aramis. (Sent to Aramis at 00:51)_

Aramis doesn’t reply.

_He loves you too, you know. (Seen by Aramis at 01:03)_

_If only (Sent to Athos at 01:14)_

Athos sighs heavily, drinks the last of the wine in his glass, and heads to bed. Why he befriended such idiots, he would never know.

-

It’s early January when Porthos sees Flea and Charon again. Flea has a whole hour for lunch (shock horror) and Charon doesn’t have any lectures until that afternoon, so the three of them agree to meet in Constance and D’Artagnan’s florist-shop-but-also-a-café.

When D’Artagnan and Constance came back, they didn’t really know what to do. D’Artagnan was young- he’d only ever been in the army; Porthos could empathise with how lost he was. Constance had been married before she joined- she’d been a seamstress, her husband a tailor, and they owned a shop for mending and making army uniforms. They did everything from khakis to General’s suits.

The musketeers- as they jokingly called themselves when D’Artagnan joined their ranks- had been on leave when they met Constance. He’d fallen head over heels, and though she was reluctant to say it, she is a very sensible woman after all, so did she. She was already a reserve for the army, and when they had to head back out to the front, she wanted to go with them. Her husband refused, and so she left him. She couldn’t be with a man who tried to control her. Porthos always suspected that the only reason she was going to go was to get away from her rather pathetic excuse of a husband, but even after the divorce, she came with them.

She and D’Artagnan married a year before the war was over.

When they got back- the world was their oyster. They could do anything- Constance just knew that she didn’t want to sew anymore. D’Artagnan, as much as he loved Paris and all its eccentricities, missed his home. Before his father had died, they’d lived on a farm- and D’Artagnan knew almost everything a person could know about the flora indigenous to France. So they set up a florists shop. They found that customers would spend hours waiting around for D’Artagnan to put together a perfect bouquet for them- something which amused the other musketeers greatly- he cared so much that one time he literally sat counting how many petals where on each rose to make sure that it matched the date of the anniversary of the couple he was making the bouquet for. There were one hundred and two roses in that bouquet.

So to avoid angry customers, Constance set up a café inside. It was a tight squeeze, but they put tables outside, and she hired a few students to help her bake all that she needed to.

Flea and Charon are already there when Porthos gets there, but he still takes a minute to admire the gold cursive on the window that reads “From Gascony to Paris.” Love from D’Artagnan to Constance.

He sits down at the tiny table in the corner with them and Charon gets up to go and get him a cup of coffee, just how he likes it. The shop is busy today and Constance doesn’t mind that he gets the coffee. He used to work in the coffee shop down the road after all, he knows what everything is. He grabs Porthos a slice of chocolate cake too, and puts his money in the till when Constance isn’t looking so she can’t tell him “no, friends don’t pay.”

Charon sits, and his eye on the clock out of habit. When he left the orphanage at eighteen, he worked random jobs that required little of his massive intellect, to help Flea through university. She managed to get loans and a scholarship to study medicine at one of the finest universities in Paris- but she still needed to pay for food. Charon had little interest in doing anything. He had been smart in school, but no one had been there to help him- they just saw the snarky smile and the bruises on his knuckles and cast him of as “one of those.” They hadn’t known that the bruises came from being hit with a cane, not from street fights.

While Porthos was never adopted, and Flea was lucky enough to be adopted by a wonderful woman who had sadly lost her husband when she was very young and never remarried, Charon was shipped from place to place, from one horrible family to a worse one.

That was how Porthos got his scar. He was sixteen, and Charon was ten.

_Porthos was sat by the phone in the upstairs corridor of the orphanage, as he did every night. It rarely rang, but that night it did._

_“Hello?”_

_“Porthos?”_

_“Charon are you okay?”_

_“I need help.”_

_Porthos had called down the phone again and again, but got no response. He thanked god that he hadn’t changed into pyjamas, left the house and ran. He’d walked Charon home enough times from school to know where he was going, and when he was about five minutes away, he called the police and an ambulance for the address. Charon never called him to tell him what was wrong, even when he got hit hard, so something must have been seriously bad._

_He ran into the front door when he got there, forcing it open- its hinges where barely holding it up anyway. He didn’t call out for Charon, and he listened but it was eerily quiet, until he heard something smash and a child whimper. He hurtled into the kitchen, where Charon was curled up on the floor, clutching a floppy wrist, and his right eye was swollen shut._

_His foster father stood above him, the neck of a smashed vodka bottle gripped tightly in his hand. The room stank of alcohol and piss, and Porthos had to stop himself from retching._

_“Porthos,” Charon whimpered, and in that second the man spun around, flailing the smashed glass in his hand. Porthos was too close to him and too slow, and a sharp edge caught his face. He barely noticed he was losing his vision in his left eye as blood dripped over his face and he punched the drunkard’s temple, knocking him out and knocking him to the ground. The man’s head bounced and something cracked, but Porthos ignored it. He dropped next to Charon, lifting him into his lap, ignoring the wetness of his pyjama bottoms._

_That’s how the police found them, half an hour later. It was a rough neighbourhood; they got calls telling them something bad had happened every five minutes. They were starting not to care. The boys were huddled in the corner next to a possibly dead man, one with a broken wrist and soiled trousers, the other with half his face covered in blood._

When Charon was twenty three, he was working in a supermarket on night shifts. It was okay, because Flea was on ward duty nights too.

_A woman had walked in, dragging her son by the ear, and he was shouting and screaming. It took her all of a minute to backhand him across the face, and the boy’s cheek bled from where her ring caught the skin. Charon had seen red, and called the police. He went with the mother and son to the police station, where he was asked to recount what he’d seen. He told them word for word, and the mother undid everything in an instant._

_She stood behind her son, and roughly stroked his hair._

_“I’d never hit my boy, no would I? My little man wouldn’t let anyone be hit- would he?” The boy shook his head.  “He slipped and fell- the floors were wet. There really should have been a sign, you know.”_

_The police let them go. The next day, Charon was fired from his job. He’d walked away fuming, and when he walked for about fifteen minutes, he stopped and repeatedly, gently hit his head on the side of a building. An old man walked out of the building and asked Charon what he thought he was doing. He was probably in his seventies, and Charon thought he looked like Atticus Finch would in his seventies. Pale skin spattered with brown spots, thinning white hair, with an air of dignity about him._

_He told the man everything- not just the story about the supermarket- but his whole life story.  He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but once he started, he couldn't stop. The man had stood patiently, listening to Charon for a solid hour. He invited him in and told him he ran a small law firm. The pay wasn’t anything compared to the big firms, but they’d put Charon through university to study law if he’d come to work for them._

_Charon asked what the catch was. There wasn’t one. They needed good people to be lawyers, not sharks._

_Two days later, Charon accepted the job._

Porthos smiled at the two of them and Flea leant across the table for a hug.

“You smell like a hospital,” Porthos tells her and she makes a face as she sits back down and takes Charon’s hand in hers.

“That’s because I work in a hospital. Don’t make stupid comments.”

Charon smirks as Porthos rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee.

“So when are you going to tell Aramis you’re in love with him?” Flea says, stealing a forkful of his chocolate cake. Porthos chokes and then swallows the coffee which burns his tongue.

“I’m not in love with him Flea-” he wheezes, and Charon snorts.

“Yeah, and you also don’t have a big ugly scar over your left eye.” Flea hits Charon for that, but Porthos waves it off. He knows Charon isn’t being mean.

“Even if I was in love with him-”

“Ha! So you admit it!”

Porthos growls and ignores Flea. “Even if I was- which I’m not- he wouldn’t love me back. We’ve always been just friends.”

Flea rolls her eyes and calls D’Artagnan over. He’s just checking off something on his computer, he’ll have a minute.

“D’Art, isn’t Porthos in love with Aramis?” She gestures to the older man sitting across from her, and D’Artagnan looks confused.

“I thought it was Aramis who is in love with Porthos? Are they in love with each other? Or am I just getting confused?”

Flea squeals, Charon smirks and Porthos drags a hand down his face. D’Artagnan remains looking confused.

“Did I say something?”

Porthos shakes his head and goes to eat his chocolate cake, when he realises half of it is gone and Flea has the fork in her hand. He snatches back the fork and gobbles the rest of the cake down, before Flea can have any more.

“And why, dear D’Artagnan, do you think Aramis is in love with Porthos?”

The younger man looks sheepish and squirms under Flea’s stare.

“Well it’s not really my place to say,” he mumbles and then Constance walks over.

“Flea, if you’re hungry, go and help yourself rather than grinning wolfishly at my husband like you’re going to eat him,” she says, a hand resting on her ever-growing stomach. She turns to Porthos who has his head in his hands. Flea bolts, grabs a fresh baguette, and sits back down in twelve seconds. Charon counts.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Porthos says, but Charon speaks over him.

“We’re discussing how Aramis is in love with Porthos, and your husband won’t say where he got his information from.”

Constance shakes her head and sighs.

“Luke and Celeste, obviously,” she says and Porthos looks at her, wide eyed. She ignores him and continues. “This has become their regular place to plot and hang out at lunch.” Porthos splutters and she silences him with a hand gesture. “They heard Aramis telling his mother at Christmas. She asked if he loved you and he said yes, he always has.”

“That could mean anything!” Porthos cries, and all four of them look at him like he’s an idiot. “We’ve been best friends since we were eighteen! Of course we love each other!” They give him a _look._ “In a totally platonic way!”

A customer comes up to D’Artagnan to ask about peonies. Before D’Artagnan excuses himself, the customer- a middle aged woman comfortably in her fifties- turns to Porthos.

“My dear, it sounds like you’re in a romantic comedy. I have heard only snippets, and I can tell you- it does not sound platonic.”

Porthos groans.

-

It’s near the end of January when Porthos sees Athos for lunch. They’re in some fancy Italian place- Aramis is working and he couldn’t make it. Athos has a day off from work. None of them actually know what Athos does, still.

“Athos, do you think Aramis is in love with me?”

Athos sighs and then his mouth twitches under his moustache in a half-hearted attempt at a smirk.

“Yes.”

“Damn.”


	13. An Afternoon in an Art Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos realises something big.

Porthos and Aramis take the children to the Louvre in early February. Leon had wanted to go, and they couldn’t deny him such a sweet request, so they packed a rucksack of snacks and extra layers of clothing, got on the underground, and headed for Paris’ first district.

Leon sits on the corner of the marble steps in the hall of statues that then leads to the Emperors rooms. His tongue is stuck out of the corner of his mouth, and he’s concentrating on drawing a statue of one of the Greek gods. Porthos is watching him from a few metres away, leaving him to draw in peace. It’s one of the quietest areas of the museum- he dragged Porthos there, leaving Aramis and the other five three or four rooms away- and he’s been perched in the same spot for half an hour. Occasionally, there’s a frustrated sigh and a tear of paper from somewhere on the other side of the room. _Probably an art student_ , Porthos thinks.

He’s quite surprised when an old woman stops to look over Leon’s shoulder at what he’s drawing, rather than looking at the statue. He tenses and gets ready to interrupt, hooking the other strap of the backpack over his shoulder. Leon doesn’t notice her until she speaks.

“What are you drawing?” she asks, and Leon blinks up at her before pointing at the statue and then looks down again, continuing to glide his pencil across the page.

“It’s very good,” she tells him, and Leon shrugs. She looks around the room. _Probably looking for a parent_ , Porthos thinks, and then she spots him.

“Your son has talent,” she tells him. Porthos gives her a tight smile as he walks over; not bothering to tell her that Leon isn’t his son. _He kind of is,_ a small part of his mind tells him.

“I know,” he says proudly, looking down at Leon, who has snapped his book shut and is now hiding behind Porthos' leg.

“I don’t ever get to see unfinished work,” he says, reaching out so Leon can take his hand. His little hand is dwarfed in Porthos’ own. The lady insists on continuing conversation and Porthos smiles and nods, not really paying attention, just hoping that Aramis will come and save him from her beady stare. He’s never been very good at getting out of unwanted conversations.

“Where is your wife?” she asks suddenly, and Porthos is brought promptly back into the present. Before he gets a chance to answer, he hears Adalyn’s voice.

“There they are, Papa!”                                         

He turns to see Aramis with Adalyn in his arms. Nannette is holding Celeste’s hand, and Rene is sitting on Luke’s shoulders. He feels a rush of love for them all, and it makes his brain short circuit. In that instant, he knows that he could never leave them. _Not even if God willed me to do so_ , he thinks, but it’s Aramis’ voice he hears in his head. It’s Leon’s hand in his that grounds him, and stops him stumbling with the weight of this revelation. He turns back to the old woman, who seems very confused. It would be comical, aside from the fact that it was her bigotry causing the expression.

“I don’t have a wife, madame, but over there is my husband and our other five children.” She looks astounded, and Leon is pressing his lips together in an attempt not to laugh. Porthos winks at Leon and tells him to head over to “Papa”. The woman looks offended at the sight of them all.

“Two men? Raising six children? Sacre-bleu they will never turn out alright!” She looks up at Porthos and tuts. “Have you no shame? Corrupting these children? They deserve better homes! With proper parents!”

Porthos remains calm on the surface, but he can feel his temper rising. Aramis hands Adalyn to Celeste and takes a step forward, but Porthos speaks.

“Madame, I assure you we are providing them with the best home we can. We love these children more than anything I would ever be able to articulate. We cannot measure it or quantify it, because our love for them, it is infinite. Isn’t that the measure of a proper parent?” He doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but he does know they are true. He loves each of them with all his heart and soul, and would do anything to keep them safe and happy. He couldn’t live without them.

“And I don’t see why I should have any shame for loving someone,” he adds. “Love knows no boundaries, and I am proud to love my _husband_. There isn’t a better man on this earth.” And it’s true, it’s not just an act to put some stranger in her place. He is proud to love Aramis, and he really, truly loves him. He thinks that, just maybe, he always has.

He hadn’t noticed that Aramis had walked up to him, but Porthos does notice that when Aramis intertwines his fingers with his own, he feels invincible.

The old woman walks away with a huff, and Porthos vaguely registers a call of “well done, my friend!” from the other side of the room- _the frustrated art student_ , he thinks, and he can see the smiles of the children, but he’s too busy looking at Aramis and taking in his smile. His skin is creased around his eyes, which changes the shape of the tiny white scar on his cheek ever so slightly.

Aramis runs a calloused thumb over Porthos’ knuckles. “That was quite a performance, Monsieur DuVallon. My knight in shining armour, it seems.” He pauses and corrects himself. “Our knight in shining armour.”

Before Porthos can tell Aramis that it wasn’t, it wasn’t a performance; he meant every word of it- he loves the children more than he thought he could love anybody, and he loves Aramis the same- Aramis has let go of his hand and turned on his heel, telling the children to move along. They would go and have lunch outside- yes, Celeste, even in the freaking cold.

Celeste looks at Luke and lets Adalyn slide down her side to the floor, before dropping behind to walk with Porthos. She slips her hand into his, and Porthos lets out a shaky breath.

“You really love Papa, don’t you Porthos?” she asks, looking up at him. Porthos looks at her with a sad smile.

“I meant every word I said, ma petite. I meant every word.”

Celeste squeezes hand.

Aramis walks with Luke by his side. The other children are ahead, and Luke speaks quietly.

“You know he loves us right? He meant all of that. He loves me and Celeste and Leon and Rene and the twins and you-”

“I know he loves you all, mon cheri. He loves you all with all that he his. How could he not?”

Aramis walks away before Luke can argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it!


	14. Friday 13th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon and Luke sit in the park by the lake.

Leon enjoys it when the world is quiet. He doesn’t mind the noise at home, but he likes it when its quiet. And today, out by the lake in the park, it is. Save for Luke’s sporadic grumbles about being forced to sit on a freezing park bench, which he is certain his backside is stuck to. It’s Friday 13th of February today, and despite the fact that Leon knows it is just a superstition that bad things happen on Friday 13th’s; he wanted to get out of the house, even though he’d only just gotten home from school. Better he be away from the people he loves- he makes bad things happen on Friday 13th’s. But Aramis had insisted that someone go with him to the park, and Luke volunteered. Even though Luke was always grumbling, Leon knew he never meant it. Just like all of his teasing was never, ever meant to be mean. He’d told Leon so within the first week, when Leon had panicked after Luke teased that he was “too quiet”. _He only grumbles and teases because he loves me_ , he finds himself thinking at least five times a day, and it’s a comforting thought.

His hand sweeps across the page, and the last of winter that he sees before him is transferred magically onto the page. The ice on the lake is melting, and the grass around it is slowly getting greener. He picks his colours carefully. Luke is holding the pencils for him in gloved hands, and every now and again he tells Leon he likes the colour he’s chosen, but not once does he look at the paper. Leon is grateful for that.

He’d panicked once, a month after he’d moved in, when he found the twins looking at a piece of art he’d done that wasn’t quite finished.

_Logically, he knew they were only little and they didn’t mean it, but Leon couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable when he saw them holding his unfinished drawing of the two of them, crinkling it in their chubby little hands that he spent hours perfecting on the paper. The last time someone looked at an unfinished drawing he’d done, they ripped it up. It had been in art class when he was seven- he was meant to be drawing the person opposite him. The girl had pinched him hard when she saw his drawing of her. He’d had panicked then._

_He asked the twins to put it down, and they said they would but they were “just looking.” He asked them again, and they looked at him crossly. No. It’s their faces, they could look. The argument went on for another three minutes and forty seven seconds- he was looking at the clock- until he screamed. He screamed and cried and the twins had frozen in fear before dropping the sheet and running to get Aramis. He didn’t want to create a fuss, he really didn’t, but the more he tried not to panic, the more he did, and the more he got angry. And then he hit himself on the head._

_Aramis had his arms around him in a second. He pulled Leon’s arms down and crossed them on his chest, and then pulled Leon in for a hug so his back was pressed to Aramis’ torso. He laid the both of them on the ground on their sides, and Leon struggled against him. Aramis tried very hard to maintain slow breathing- making sure Leon could feel the rise and fall of his chest in a regular pattern._

_Leon felt himself calm down, and soon he rolled over, burying his face in Aramis’ chest, soaking the man’s t-shirt through as he cried._

_“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and Aramis had told him he had nothing to be sorry about. The twins came in a minute later, telling them they were sorry and wouldn’t look again until he said it was okay. He had wiped his eyes and told them it was okay._

That was the first time any one tried to help with a _meltdown-_ that’s what they called it when Aramis took him to see Dr Dumas- a young woman with bright red hair. No, Dr Dumas called them “episodes of challenging behaviour- like a meltdown.” Either way, he has _autism spectrum disorder_ and he has _mild hypersensitivity related to hearing._ He doesn’t mind the normal sounds of loud laughter and talking, but fireworks and music that’s too loud set him off. He’s also _more inclined to meltdowns when he feels unsafe._

He’d not had so many _meltdowns_ in the time that he’d been with Aramis. In the orphanage, they called them _tantrums_ and told him that he should have grown out of them by now. Aramis didn’t say that, and neither did Porthos.

He looks over to Luke, who is studying the lake in front of them.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“I don’t mind.” Luke is quiet for a while, and then speaks again. “You know Porthos loves Aramis.”

“Aramis loves Porthos too.”

“Yes, he does.” Luke agrees. “I think Porthos is going to tell Aramis tomorrow. It’s Valentine’s day.”

“Okay.”

“Do you mind if I go for a walk- just to that third tree and back?”

“I don’t mind.”

Luke carefully leaves his pencils on the bench, and jumps up to go for a walk and bring some life back to his legs. Leon continues drawing, until someone snatches his notebook out of his hands.

“The _spaz_ likes to draw!” crows one of the boys. Leon blinks at the two of them. They are in the year above him at school. He hasn’t been called that word in a very long time, but he’s used to their jeering. It’s only them in the entire school, and usually a teacher tells them off, but no one is here to do that.

“Give it back,” he says, his voice low. He can hear Luke running back towards them. He grabs for the book, and the boy lifts it out of his reach. The other one is laughing at him.

“What? This piece of shit?” The boy relishes saying the last word, like he’s never said it before. It’s a bad word _._ _Celeste gets told off for saying it_ , Leon thinks _._ “You want it that badly? Go and get it.” The boy throws the notebook, and it lands on the lake. It lands too far out to reach without stepping onto the ice. Leon runs after it anyway.

“LEON!” He hears Luke yell, but he ignores him. The two boys have run off now that they’ve seen Leon isn’t alone. He keeps running, and he runs onto the lake. His shoes slip and he falls, but he grabs his notebook.

“LEON!” he hears again, but he’s panicking because he can hear the ice cracking underneath him. _He is_ _more inclined to meltdowns when he feels unsafe._ Luke is on the bank now, he can see him, and he kneels to slide over onto the ice. He pulls Leon up into his arms, telling him that it’s okay, and slowly slides on his knees back over to the bank. They’re almost there when Leon hears the ice crack again, and Luke all but throws him onto the bank. Leon turns, and catches Luke’s eye.

“Run,” he tells Leon and then the ice breaks beneath him, and he disappears under the water.

Leon _bolts,_ as Dr Dumas would call it. He runs home, and he ignores the angry drivers as he sprints across the road. _I haven’t been run over,_ he thinks, _because bad things don’t happen to me on Friday 13 th, only the people I love. _

When he gets to the door, he rings the bell three times, and then he shouts. Aramis opens it instantly and pulls Leon into a hug with his arms crossed, but Leon keeps on shouting.

“Luke is in the lake! Luke! In! Lake! Luke! Lake!”  _Luke_ and _lake_ become one word.

Porthos is out of the door in seconds.

Celeste has her phone in her hand, and calls an ambulance to the park under Aramis’ instructions, though he’s still trying to stop Leon’s meltdown. When Leon is calm, Aramis sits him down on the sofa, and tells Celeste to run downstairs and ask the neighbours to come and sit with her and the other children. They’ve babysat for him before; they know how to help Leon should he panic again.

He grabs his coat and runs out of the door as soon as the neighbours arrive.

When Porthos gets to the park, Luke is spasming with the cold- from waist down, he’s still in the water. Porthos lies flat on his stomach on the edge of the bank, and pulls Luke to him, out of the water. He has to have been in there for at least twenty minutes- enough time for hypothermia to set in.

When Aramis gets to the park, Porthos is sprinting to the ambulance with Luke bundled in his arms. Luke looks tiny and he is soaking wet, and his lips are a more than worrying shade of blue. Porthos helps lie Luke down onto the bed, and the ambulance doctors’ work quickly in taking off his coat, hat, scarf, gloves, jumper and jeans and then wrapping him in layers and layers of blankets.

Aramis sits next to Luke as they drive to the hospital, cupping his pale cheek with his hand. Porthos sits close to Aramis, taking off his own wet coat. He holds Aramis close, who is whispering his prayers in Spanish, pressing his cross to his lips.

“He’s going to be okay,” Porthos promises, kissing Aramis’ temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small cliffhanger for you all :)


	15. What Really Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke wakes up.

Aramis and Porthos sit by Luke’s bed the whole night. Even when the doctors have told them that his condition is stable. Even when Flea appears- in her scrubs, she just happens to be on duty that night- and tells them to go home because she’s switched with one of the other nurses so she’s on this ward all night anyway and they need to sleep. Aramis doesn’t say a word, he just shakes his head. He will stay by Luke until he is home and safe. Porthos sits by him, holding his hand and running his thumb over Aramis’ knuckles.

Sometime around seven in the morning, Celeste texts them both to tell them that she’s called Athos to come and babysit, so the neighbours can go back to their place. D’Artagnan and Constance are closing up the shop for the day so they can help in any way they can. They are the only ones who have a car. They’re bringing Celeste and Leon to the hospital, Leon was very adamant about coming, so that the two of them can see Luke. Constance can sit with Luke so Porthos and Aramis can go home, help Athos with the other children, shower and possibly take a nap. D’Artagnan will be chauffeur. Porthos looks at Aramis, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so broken. He squeezes Aramis’ hand and asks if he wants to go home. Aramis shakes his head- he won’t leave Luke until he is home and safe- but Porthos should go back, Athos will need the help.

When D’Artagnan and Constance arrive with Celeste and Leon, Porthos gets up, kisses Aramis’ temple, and tells him he’ll get him a coffee and then go home. He’ll be back as soon as possible. As he walks out the door and Celeste walks in, he whispers to her to text him immediately if anything happens. She promises that she will, and takes Leon’s hand, and the two of them disappear into the room. D’Artagnan and Constance make themselves comfortable in the visitors chairs outside the floor reception.

“What happened?” Constance asks, grabbing his wrist to stop him walking straight past them. He wasn’t thinking- he didn’t even stop to say hello or thank you. He knew the two of them wouldn’t hold it against him.

“Luke took Leon to the park after school- Leon was feeling anxious yesterday, even when he got home, so Luke said he’d take him out. It’s the kind of thing he’d do- try and go ice skating for Leon’s entertainment even when he knows the ice is thin.” He shakes his head and frowns. That’s what they had told the doctors when they asked what happened, but something wasn’t sitting right with Porthos. Luke did stupid things, yes, all the time- but he was always so careful around Leon. Always. “The doctors say he’s in a stable condition, and he’s not hypothermic anymore which is good. But Aramis is still freaking out because he hasn’t woken up yet.” He runs his hand over his face and scratches his beard. They both hug him, telling him Luke will be okay if the doctors said so.

D’Artagnan offers to go and get the coffee for Aramis, because he looks like he’s about to drop.  Porthos smiles at him gratefully, D’Artagnan says he’ll let him take it in to Aramis. He returns five minutes later and Constance is rubbing Porthos’ back in the same way you’d soothe a child.

Celeste is sitting opposite Aramis, holding Luke’s other hand. At least he’s not cold any more. Leon insists on staying at the end of the bed.

“Stupid boy,” she mutters, having only heard Aramis’ assumptions on what happened. “Stupid, stupid boy.”

“He’s not stupid,” Leon mutters back, and Aramis looks at him tiredly.

“No Leon, he’s not stupid. But running onto the ice was a stupid thing to do.”

“But it’s not his fault! Bad things happen on Friday 13th!”

“Leon-”

“It’s not his fault!” Leon says, a little too loudly, and his hands start to shake. Porthos is in the room in an instant. He hands Aramis the coffee cup and kneels in front of Leon, placing his large hands on the boy’s tiny shoulders.

“Leon, do you want to go outside?” he asks quietly, but Leon pushes him away.

“It’s not his fault! It’s my fault! Bad things happen on Friday 13th!”

Porthos lets his hands drop to his sides. “Okay, so why is it your fault?” Leon seems a little shocked to be asked such a question.

“I ran onto the lake first. Luke ran after me and carried me back- but then the ice cracked and he threw me so I wouldn’t go under, only him.”

Aramis inhales sharply, and Celeste is focused on Leon and Porthos- Porthos who nods again and keeps eye contact with Luke the whole time.

“Leon, did you _bolt_? Is that why you ran onto the lake?”

Leon shakes his head, and fat tears start rolling down his cheeks.

“He threw my notebook.”

“He did  _what_?”

“Not Luke! The boy another boy a different boy bigger than me but smaller than Luke Luke had gone to walk to the tree and back after he said that Aramis loves Porthos and and the boy came and he took my book and he called it a piece of-” he hiccups, “a piece of shit and he threw it he threw it onto the late and I ran after it and Luke ran after me and the boys ran away and I panicked and Luke carried me and then he threw me and then he told me to _run_ and then he was gone under the ice-” he stops talking, his chest heaving from not breathing properly, and he collapses into Porthos’ waiting arms. Porthos holds him close, rocking him back and forth, telling him it’s not his fault.

Leon turns to look at Aramis, his head still resting on Porthos’ shoulder. “I’m sorry Papa,” he says, not bothering to wipe away the tear tracks.

Aramis looks a little shell shocked by all the information, and everyone is startled by the fact that Leon just called Aramis “papa”. Aramis leaves Luke’s side for the first time to take Leon into his arms. “It’s okay, mon amour, it’s okay.”

Celeste is the only one that has noticed that Luke has woken up. He squeezes her hand and she helps props him up, and then he smiles.

“Yeah little man, I’m all good, see?” he says to Leon, his voice hoarse. Everyone turns to him, and Leon sniffles, wiping his nose with his hand.

“I’m sorry I made you go to hospital,” he says, climbing onto the bed and resting his head on Luke’s chest. Luke cuddles him close.

“Not your fault little man. Not even on Friday 13th.”

A doctor walks in then and does all the routine checks on Luke, who still has Leon in his lap. She’s glad to see he’s awake. She tells Aramis and Porthos, who remember to get off the floor only when she gives them weird looks, that he’s going to be fine, but they’ll keep him in the hospital for another night just to make sure. Aramis breathes a sigh of relief, as does Porthos, and they thank her before she leaves. She tells them both to go home and get some rest- the lady outside (the pregnant one? _Yes_.) has told the doctor that she’s happy to stay with Luke until the two of them come back.

Aramis begrudgingly accepts that he’ll go home, and Celeste says that she’ll come too. Leon wants to stay with Luke. When Aramis and Porthos have left the room to go and update Constance and D’Artagnan and properly thank them for all their help, Celeste hands Luke his phone.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she tells him after she kisses his cheek and he smiles wickedly at her.

“I would say film it if or when it happens, but that seems a bit much.”

She agrees, and heads out to find Aramis and Porthos as Constance walks in to see Luke. 


	16. Fools In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's confessions in the kitchen.

****

When Aramis, Porthos and Celeste get back and tell everyone that Luke is awake, immediately D’Artagnan is told to drive Athos, Rene and the twins to the hospital so they can see him. The twins have made him “get well soon” cards, and Rene wants to give him balloons (even if they are all shiny red hearts rather than yellow, which is Luke’s favourite colour, because it’s Valentine’s Day). None of the adults object, and soon it’s just Aramis, Porthos and Celeste left in the house. Porthos goes to have a shower, and Celeste sits Aramis down in the kitchen and makes him tea and breakfast. He’s slowly chewing through a piece of toast when she asks him a question.

“Papa, you know Porthos is in love with you right?”

“Not now. I am not in the mood.”

“It’s a fact, Aramis. You don’t need to be _in the mood_ for facts.”

“Enough. Your brother is in hospital, I do not need your childish meddling right now. It is not an appropriate time.”

“Luke is fine; don’t use him as an excuse.”

“Celeste-”

“When is the appropriate time? When you’re both old and grey and have gone through life loving each other thinking that the other one doesn’t love you?”

“Celeste!”

“But Papa!”

“Go to your room and have a nap. Enough of this! You obviously need some sleep.”

Celeste throws her hands up in the air and makes the sound that teenagers always make when they are told to go to their rooms on TV. She storms out of the kitchen and slams her bedroom door. Aramis runs his hands down his face and sighs deeply. It seems all of his children have got it into their heads that Porthos is in love with him. _Probably because of the incident in the Louvre,_ Aramis thinks and sighs again. He is in love with Porthos, and it hurts that Porthos doesn’t love him back. He puts up with the pain because Porthos loves the children, and the children love him. He drops his head on the table and groans.

That’s when Porthos walks in, a towel around his neck and he looks much more fresh-faced than before. His jeans hang low on his hips, and he’s not wearing a shirt. Aramis notices a few new scars on his chest- they are old scars, but new since the last time Aramis properly looked at him. He internally groans.

“Are you alright? I heard Celeste slam her door.”

“I need to talk to you.”

Porthos’ smile slips off his face immediately, and he sits next to Aramis.

“What is it?”

“I love you.” He stares at Porthos, and Porthos raises an eyebrow.

“I love you too, but-” Porthos begins, and Aramis holds up his hand to stop him talking. There’s always a “but”.

“No Porthos, I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a very long time, I just wouldn’t admit it before. I didn’t see it before.”

“Aramis-” Porthos says quietly, reaching out to touch Aramis’ hand, but Aramis pulls away like he’s about to be burned. He jumps up from his seat and walks away. He begins to pace around the kitchen, never quite looking at Porthos, his hands flailing as he speaks.

“I’m in love with you! And I can’t bare it that you don’t love me back! And I want to run so my heart doesn’t get completely broken in two but I can’t! I can’t do that because the children love you and I couldn’t hurt them in the way that I’m hurting now.” Some of it’s in Spanish, and some in French, but he doesn’t really care because he knows Porthos will understand every word. “I don’t know what to do, and I understand if you leave,” he says when he stops pacing. _They always do._ He’s standing by the sink, and he grips the edge of the table top. He hears the chair scraping back across the floor as Porthos stands. He’s sure he’s going to leave. He tries not to tense when he hears Porthos walk up behind him.

Porthos grabs him by the shoulders and spins him round so they are as close together as two people possibly could be. Aramis tries really hard not to focus on the smell of Porthos’ soap, or the fact that Porthos looks like a masterpiece with the sunlight streaming over his face through the kitchen window, and he tries even harder not to focus on the fact that his hands are pressed against Porthos’ bare abdomen, and he can feel every muscle move as Porthos laughs. _Wait, why is he laughing_? He looks up at Porthos, utterly confused, and Porthos wraps his arms around Aramis’ waist.

“Oh, _querido,_ ” Porthos says quietly, and his smile is radiant. “You are a fool if you think that I would ever leave my home with the wild things.”

Aramis gulps. “You don’t mind that I am in love with you?”

“Why should I mind, when I am just as in love with you?”

Aramis, ever the romantic, will swear to the day he dies that his heart skipped two beats in that moment. Porthos lifts a hand to hold Aramis’ jaw, and leans down to kiss him.

Aramis’ breath hitches when Porthos’ lips touch his, and he’s sure he forgets how to breathe all together. It’s like the kisses at Christmas under the mistletoe, and New Year’s when it hit midnight- it’s soft and sweet and gentle and it makes Aramis want to cry because Porthos is just so _careful,_ like he always is when he touches someone because he doesn’t want to hurt them, because he’s so aware of how strong he really is. But also this time it’s just so much _more._ As he kisses back, Porthos’ arm around Aramis’ waist pulls him closer, lifting him onto his toes ever so slightly, and his thumb strokes over Aramis’ jaw and Aramis can just _feel_ how much he is loved and it’s perfect.  

All too soon, Porthos stops kissing him, and Aramis chases after the kiss. He can feel Porthos breathing hard, and when he opens his eyes- he hadn’t even noticed when they closed- Porthos is beaming at him. Aramis lifts his arms to wind them around Porthos’ neck, and smiles back. Porthos’ hand drops to hold Aramis’ hip, and he kisses Aramis again, more eagerly this time. Aramis sighs into the kiss, and he knows Porthos is smiling.

Porthos pulls away, and rests his forehead on Aramis’, brushing their noses together like an Eskimo kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, and Aramis bites his lip as he smiles. It’s the same three words, but they feel different.

“I think I have always loved you.”

They don’t notice Celeste taking a picture through the half open door.

-

Luke’s phone pings.

_Message (now)  
Celeste sent you a photo. _

“Who’s it from?” Nannette asks, and Constance raises an eyebrow as all the children climb onto the bed around Luke.

“Celeste,” Luke tells them, and Constance frowns slightly.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, she sent me a photo.”

He opens the text, and Aramis and Porthos in the kitchen appear on his screen, their arms around each other and their foreheads pressed together. Leon’s phone pings again, and a message pops up under the photo from Celeste.

_“I have always loved you”_

And then

_LUKE IS EVERYONE SEEING THIS!?!?!?!?!?!?????!!!!!!!!!??!_

Luke replies as his siblings start cheering. Constance pushes herself up and peers over his shoulder, and when she sees the photo, she cheers too. At that moment, Athos and D’Artagnan walk in with a bag full of sweets.

_Yes, EVERYONE is seeing this_

Before his text has even finished sending, he gets another text from Celeste.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH FUCKING FINALLY_

“What’s going on?” Athos asks, his moustache failing to hide his smirk for once.

“Aramis and Porthos are together, Celeste tells us,” Constance says, going up to hug her husband and steal a chocolate bar out of the bag he’s holding.

“Only took them thirteen years,” D’Artagnan laughs, holding Constance close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally :)


	17. "Papa"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids want to know what to call Porthos.

The eight of them were sat in the kitchen eating dinner, with Luke wrapped in at least three blankets and the heating on so high it felt like a sauna. He had been home from the hospital for a week, but Aramis was insistent that he would be supplied with hot drinks and blankets at all times. He’d make Luke wear a woolly hat if Luke hadn’t protested so much and Celeste vehemently argued that there was only space for one hat wearing moody teen in the house- and she’d taken it.

“Papa?” Leon asks with a small smile on his face. He likes calling Aramis ‘papa’, and every time he did, Aramis grins.

“Yes, Leon?” No one is really paying attention to them, there are at least four other conversations happening at the same time, as always in their home.

“What are we meant to call Porthos now?”

“Pardon?”

“Well now that Porthos is with you, and we call you Papa, does that make Porthos our Papa too?”

Everyone stops talking at this point, and Porthos looks a little startled. Aramis tries not to take it as a negative- they have, after all, only just begun this new part of their relationship, even if it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“Well-”

“You can’t both be Papa!” Adalyn frowns as she speaks, her bottom lip pushing out into a pout. Nannette agrees.

“That would be very confusing.”

Celeste and Luke smirk, Porthos looks like he’s trying to find his words and Rene is tapping his chin like he’s trying to think of the solution to the current problem.

“Well perhaps we should stick to calling Porthos “Porthos” then, to avoid confusion,” Aramis suggests, and nobody argues but an awkward silence falls over the dinner table as everyone continues to eat. Aramis doesn’t look at Porthos, so he misses the poorly hidden crestfallen expression. As the meal comes to an end, everyone starts to talk again, apart from Rene.

After five minutes of intently looking at all the different members of his family, Rene pipes up.

“Nina bought a sari in for show and tell today- her family are from India.”

Aramis gets up to clear the table, but talks to Rene as he does.

“That’s very interesting- did she show you all how to put one on?”

“She did- her mum let me try it on- even though it’s only for girls- but I was the only one who wanted to because you have to stand very still.”

“Did you like it?”

“It was quite heavy- but Nina said I looked nice.”

“That’s very sweet of her,” Aramis smiles at Rene as he pulls on a pair of washing up gloves.

“Nina and her mum taught us different words in Indian too.”

“Indian isn’t a language, it’s a big place so there are lots of different languages - do you remember what she said it was?”

“It started with an h- um,” Rene frowned as he tried to remember what Madam Chandri had said.

“Hindi?”

“Yes! And she said that the word for mother is “ma” and for father it’s “baba” which I said sounds like French and Spanish “papa” but it’s not the same.”

“That’s a clever thing to notice!”

“Papa?”

“Yes, Rene?”

“You are from Spain.”

“Yes, Rene. I am Spanish- but I was born in France.” His mother had made sure he was both a French and Spanish citizen- but she hadn’t anticipated that it would mean he went off to war- had he not technically been a French citizen, he wouldn’t have been able to join the army. He wouldn’t have met Porthos.

“Me, Addy and Nen are French, aren’t we?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Nothing else?”

“Not that I know of?”

“How boring. What about Luke?”

“Boring French, like you,” Luke says as he walks over to Aramis to hand him his plate.

“Celeste?” Rene says, turning to his older sister. Celeste shrugs as she picks up a drying cloth to help Aramis.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

Celeste wrinkles her nose and shrugs. No one knew anything about her parents. All she knew was she didn’t look only French, but it wasn’t exactly obvious what the Not-French part of her was. She and Luke had spent a whole night discussing this once, and had decided that one of her parents must have been from somewhere in South East Asia, probably- but she’d never know exactly where because South East Asia is huge, there’s hundreds and hundreds of different kinds of people, and she couldn’t possibly count herself as part of a culture if she couldn’t be sure of which culture she was from. She couldn’t stereotype herself, or disrespect her birth parent’s heritage- her own heritage- like that.

“I don’t know. But I am French.”

Rene sighs, seemingly disappointed by his family’s lack of diversity so far, and turns to the next person.

“Leon, where are you from?”

“France,” Leon replies automatically, and he looks confused. Rene looks as though he is frustrated at himself for not expressing himself accurately.

“No! Where did you come from?”

“The orphanage. Same as you.” Leon looks even more confused and Aramis is looking warily at Rene, who is frowning and huffing.

“No! Like Nina is from India, where are you from?”

Aramis winces and turns to take Rene aside and talk to him, but Porthos steps in. He crouches low next to Leon, who is fidgeting in his seat.

“Leon is from France, his birth parents were French, same as yours, and Luke’s, and Celeste’s. The colour of his skin doesn’t mean he is from a different place. Aramis is the same colour as you, but he is Spanish, and that is different to you. Does that make sense?” Rene nods, and Aramis looks ashamed. Porthos lifts the corner of his lip, giving Aramis a tiny smile to let him know everything is okay.

“Porthos, are you just French too?”

“Rene, what is all of this about?” Aramis asks as he finishes washing up, but Rene ignores him and keeps his focus on Porthos.

“Porthos?”

Porthos stands, towering over Rene, and picks up the little boy. Rene wraps his arms around Porthos’ neck, and his legs around Porthos’ waist, hanging off Porthos like a baby monkey. Porthos swings the little boy around so he can piggy-back him around the room as he clears the table at the same time.

“I am French,” Porthos begins, and Rene sighs dejectedly, “but my mother was from Mali.”

“Where is Mali?”

“West Africa,” Luke says, and Rene cocks his head to the side, still confused.

“Real helpful, Luke,” Celeste teases.

“I’ll show you on a map later,” Porthos says as he pushes the freezer door closed as the twins are trying to open it. “No ice cream today, Addy.”

Adalyn and Nannette groan and sit down again with their arms crossed- Aramis grabs yoghurts for the two of them instead, and they eat them eagerly, having forgotten about ice cream.

Aramis leans against the table, watching Porthos. Porthos rarely talked about his mother, of what little he can remember, but when he does it’s so fond it makes Aramis’ heart break. Porthos stills as Rene wriggles to hoist himself up higher on Porthos’ back.

“What language do they speak in Mali?”

“French,” Celeste replies, and Rene groans.

“Why is that a problem?” Leon asks, looking up from his sketchbook. After the incident in the park, he carried it with him everywhere for fear of losing it- even though he’d been told not to worry because no one was going to take it from him. The boys had been suspended after Aramis and Porthos told the school what happened- the verbal abuse, Luke ending up in the hospital, everything. “If you wanted to go to Mali, you’d be able to speak to everybody.”

“But that means they use all the same words!” Rene says with a roll of his eyes, and everyone looks confused. “There’s no different word for Papa and that’s the whole problem in the first place!”

Aramis rubs his temple and breathes deeply before taking Rene from Porthos and carrying him on his hip. “Rene, we discussed this, Porthos is just-”

“They do speak lots of different languages in Mali too,” Porthos interrupts, standing next to Aramis, and placing an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. He couldn’t decide if he liked “boyfriend” or not, because they are in their thirties with six kids, but he doesn’t like partner either. He’d figure it out later- after all, they’ve only been in a relationship for a week. (Flea would tell him he’s been in a relationship for thirteen years, but he’d ignore her.)

“Why are there so many different languages?” Rene asks, barely noticing the display of affection between his Papa and Porthos- unlike Celeste, who takes a photo, and Luke rolls his eyes.

“For all the different groups of people- they all have a different language.”

“Which group are you from?”

“Bambara- part of the Mande peoples.”

“I never knew that,” Aramis says, turning to Porthos with a frown on his face.

“I didn’t until really recently,” Porthos shrugs, and Celeste has suddenly taken a lot more interest in the conversation.

“How did you find out?” she asks quietly, and Luke bites his lip.

“When I got to the orphanage, I didn’t have much, but I did have a couple of books. Children’s books, and beautifully illustrated, which my mother had bought for me with what little money she had. I’ve still got them. They have inscriptions on the inside, in a language that isn’t French. Up until last year, I never bothered to attempt to translate them- when I did, and it turned out to be Bambara- so I figured that was the group of people my mother came from.”

Celeste gulps and nods thoughtfully, and Luke gives her hand a squeeze.

“I remember a few words as well, which my mother used to say, but not much.”

“What’s papa in Bambara then?” Rene asks, looking entirely too hopeful.

“Fa, I think,” Porthos says, and Rene nods, turning to Aramis, who is looking at Porthos. He puts his cheek on Aramis’ face, making his papa turn to face him.

“Can we call Porthos “fa” then, Papa?”

“That, mon cheri, is for Porthos to decide.”

Rene turns to Porthos, and Porthos takes a sweeping look at everyone in the room. Luke looks mildly uncomfortable, and Celeste has an eyebrow raised. Leon is drawing, it’s obvious he’s not been paying attention for a while, and the twins are trying to wipe yoghurt off their faces.

Aramis looks slightly apprehensive.

“You call me whatever you want to call me.”

-

As Aramis climbs into bed that night, he wants to apologise but doesn’t quite know how to or what for, really.

“About what Rene was saying earlier-”

“I honestly don’t mind. The children can call me whatever they feel comfortable calling me.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. If anything, I am honoured that they think of me as highly as they think of you- that I am worthy of the title ‘papa’.”

Aramis beams and kisses Porthos, who chuckles and pulls him close.

“I love you,” Aramis whispers.

“I know,” Porthos teases, and it earns him a slap on the chest.

“You’re not Hans Solo!”

“I love you too, querido.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update!


	18. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celeste goes back to the orphanage.

Celeste frowns as she looks at the bottom of her empty hot chocolate mug. There’s nothing wrong with it, and the hot chocolate was delicious- Constance is definitely the best maker of hot chocolate in the whole of Paris, and nothing can convince her otherwise, no matter how hard Papa tries to recreate it at home. She’s frowning because she can’t stop thinking about what Porthos said about his mum. She’s sure everyone has forgotten already, it’s been weeks, and Luke would probably not tell her that she’s obsessing, but he would nod and tell her that if it is really bothering her, she should talk to Aramis, but it shouldn’t be an issue because where she is from is not what defines her. She knows that, but that’s not really what she wants to hear. She doesn’t want to talk to Aramis because it’s like she’s writing him off- she’s not, she loves him, and she doesn’t want him to doubt that.

“You’ve been staring into the bottom of that mug for a while now,” D’Artagnan says kindly, the corners of his eyes creasing slightly as he smiles. Celeste didn’t even notice when he came to sit down. “Where’s Luke? Is he at home sick from school?”

“No, Luke’s with his friends. I didn’t invite him along today. Tuesday is the usual day when we come here for lunch. It’s Thursday.”

“Yes, quite out of ordinary,” D’Artagnan agrees. Celeste isn’t looking at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up.”

“You’ve not asked for another cup of hot chocolate and it’s a Thursday. Something must be up.”

Celeste purses her lips and looks up at D’Artagnan, like she’s trying to decide if he’s a good person to divulge information to. He keeps a small smile on his face and waits patiently.

“I’m adopted.”

“I may look like an idiot but I gathered that much,” he teases, and Celeste sticks her tongue out at him.

“I didn’t start that right. I mean to say that I don’t actually know who my parents are. I mean obviously Papa, and Porthos now I guess, but my birth parents. I have no clue who they are. I was left on church steps as a baby- I have no recollection of them and no one has seen them. Either of them. Ever.”

“Okay,” D’Artagnan says simply, allowing for Celeste to continue. He can’t help but notice how like Aramis she is in the way that she moves her hands when she talks.

“And it shouldn’t matter because I have great parents who love me and I love them and I’ve literally got the most incredible family- and I don’t really care that I don’t know my parents but I do care that I don’t know where I’m from, if that makes any sense.”

“Where you’re from?” D’Artagnan asks, slightly confused.

“Yeah- I mean look at me I’m obviously not just European there is something else in the mix.” She points to her face and D’Artagnan doesn’t quite know how to respond so he settles with a quick nod.

“That’s what’s bothering you?”

“Yes. Because I know logically that that shouldn’t bother me either but then Porthos was saying about his mum and how he didn’t know where he was from until he found out a little while back-”

“I thought he always knew he was from Mali?”

“He did but he didn’t know he was Bambara and now he does and like I guess some people are cool without knowing but it was something that connects him to his mum.” Celeste shrugs, D’Artagnan nods again, and Celeste carries on. “And I don’t want that connection to my mum or whatever but I wouldn’t mind knowing where this face comes from because people ask- like Rene asked the other day and I just had to say I don’t know and it’s been bugging me.”

D’Artagnan is quite for what feels like an age after Celeste stops talking. “That’s fair enough.”

Celeste looks at him, as if she can’t believe that he thinks she’s being reasonable. “What?”

“That’s understandable. It’s not a case of wanting to belong it’s just a case of wanting to know. Like Tarzan doesn’t want to belong with people- he wants to belong with his family of gorillas- and he does belong with them, but he just wants to know why he’s not exactly the same. He’s just curious.”

“Did you seriously just compare me to Tarzan?”

“It’s a good movie and right now it’s quite pertinent.”

“Tarzan?”

“Sorry.”

Celeste wants to be annoyed, but D’Artagnan looks like he actually is sorry so she can’t help but laugh. Constance brings over a slice of chocolate roulade for each of them, and taps the side of her nose. This is a secret cake that she isn’t telling the other customers about, so she can keep it for herself- “secret cake craving” D’Artagnan joked once, and now it’s become part of Celeste and Luke’s lunches. She wonders if Constance will still keep cakes aside for them even after she has the baby- which is due very, very soon by the size of her belly.

“So you don’t think I’m being weird?” Celeste asks after a mouthful of cake. She catches Constance’s eye and gives her a thumbs up- it’s delicious roulade.

“Not at all,” D’Artagnan says with a shrug. He puts his fork down and licks his lips, “but I don’t know what you can do about it,” he tells her earnestly.

 Celeste has an idea, but she’s not one hundred percent sure of it yet.

“It’s okay. Just, please don’t tell Papa?”

D’Artagnan crosses his fingers under the table where she can’t see.

“I promise.”

He won’t tell unless he has to.

-

Celeste checks her phone. It’s half way through the last lesson of the day, but she’s not got any missed calls from Aramis or Porthos so they don’t know she’s not in school which means D’Artagnan hasn’t said anything.

Not that D’Artagnan knew that she was going to the orphanage in the first place.

She bounces on her toes as she waits for someone to open the door. The place hasn’t changed at all- the window panes are still an annoying faded white that seem like someone has half-heartedly attempted to clean them but failed, and the door an overly-optimistic shade of pale blue. She wonders if it looked the same when Porthos was growing up here.

“Celeste! I wasn’t expecting you to be at the door!” Elodie greets her, and Celeste manages a little smile. Elodie is probably the only person she missed in the entire establishment- she’s known Celeste from the day she was brought to the orphanage, and sends her birthday cards every year. She also hasn’t changed a bit- she is still as fat as a house (her words) and hasn’t aged. Celeste still doesn’t know how old Elodie is- she asked once and Elodie had said that she was as old as her tongue and a little older than her teeth, if that answered her question. It did not, but Celeste didn’t ask again.

“Bonjour, Elodie,” she says, and gives the old woman a hug.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you at school?”

“I wanted to speak with you.” Celeste knows she’s being cryptic, and Elodie purses her lips and looks her over.

“Come in and I’ll make you some tea."

-

Celeste holds her mug in her hands and sits at the old table which is covered in paint and creaks if you lean on it too hard. It’s quiet- all the children must be at school- any babies will be having their afternoon nap. Elodie sits next to her, groaning about old bones as she does.

“So what is it you wanted to ask?”

“What do you know about my birth parents?”

“Straight to the point then.”

Celeste shrugs. “No point in babbling.”

“I don’t know much,” Elodie begins, and Celeste gulps. “Apart from the fact that your mother was adamant that we did not look for your father or give you to him should we ever find him.”

Celeste nods. This is useless information that she doesn’t care for. Mostly.

“How do you know that?”

“Your mother wrote a letter. You knew that.”

“I thought it only had my name and date of birth on it.” Fifteen years, and Celeste had not known that there was more to the piece of paper she was found with. Did Papa know? If she asked him, telling him she knew, would he admit it? _If he did, he would have told me_ , she thinks. Papa didn’t hide things from them.

“Yes- in terrible French, mind you, but a letter all the same.”

“What did the letter say?”

“I told you.”

“What did it say exactly?”

“Oh I can’t remember it word for word off the top of my head, but it will be in your file somewhere- do you want to see it?”

“Yes I want to see it.”

Elodie waddles off to retrieve the letter, and Celeste bounces her knee. She doesn’t know what to expect, what would the woman have written down that would be useful- “here is my baby, look after her please, I am going back to my home in Thailand/wherever I’m from”? Somehow, Celeste was doubtful.

Elodie comes back with a fat file in her hands- there’s lists and information on all the people who wanted to adopt Celeste and then didn’t, there’s pictures of her, medical records, everything. Most importantly, the letter.

Celeste’s hands shake as she pulls out the piece of paper from its plastic wallet, and she sets it down in front of her to read- the French is poor, interspersed with random bits of English, written mostly phonetically, obviously written by someone Not French and not English. But it’s understandable.

  _This is Celeste, born 19 thJuly 2000. _

_I am leaving her here because I cannot look after her. I am 16._  
I am running. Her father is bad. Do not look for him. Do not give her to him.  
I run with him from ------------ and now I run from him.  
I am shame. Do not say these things to her when she is big.  
Tell her I am sorry for me. Tell her that I love her for the time I had her. 

There is no name at the bottom, but there are characters after “from” that Celeste cannot recognise. They aren’t Chinese or Japanese, that much she knows.

“Where was she running from?”

“Oh dear I don’t know, it doesn’t seem very important- what’s important is that-”

“That is the most important part.” Celeste deadpans, and Elodie looks at her like she’s gone insane. Celeste pulls out a pen from her bag and copies the characters as best she can onto a scrap piece of paper. She stuffs everything back in her bag and downs her tea and kisses Elodie good bye.

“I have to go, or Papa will be wondering where I’ve gone to.”

Elodie doesn’t even get a chance to catch up with her as she bolts out the door.

-

When Celeste gets home, it’s eerily quiet. There are no shrieks from the twins, or grumbling from Luke, and she can’t hear Porthos’ rumbling laughter. She’s only an hour late home; nothing could have changed that much in an hour. She kicks off her shoes and takes off her coat to hang it on her peg. Everybody else’s coats are there, so they are home, but just- not talking?

It’s making her very uneasy.

She walks down the corridor, heading for her room, when she hears Aramis.

“Celeste?” He doesn’t sound angry- he sounds worried. She turns on to face him. He’s standing in the living room doorway, his arms limply by his side. Celeste can just about make out Porthos sitting on the sofa, his glasses on, reading a book.

“Sorry I’m late. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Late? Celeste I was worried because we got a call from school saying you hadn’t gone to your lesson! I thought maybe you’d gone to the nurse if you were feeling under the weather, or they’d not done the register properly, maybe you forgot to sign in, that that school of yours was just being a bit useless but then Luke came home late saying he’d waited for you- and asked your friends about you, and they said they’d not seen you since before lunch. So I thought, maybe she’s gone to see D’Art and Constance, she shouldn’t have missed school but maybe she needed some down time, and so I called them- D’Artagnan said you’d spoken and then left to go back to school! You didn’t pick up your phone! After what happened to Luke I was so worried! Where have you been?”

Throughout his speech, Celeste began to cry. She didn’t mean to worry him so much, she should have called home, but after the meeting with Elodie her head had been spinning, and she hadn’t thought to. She sniffs and Aramis wraps his arms around her, not caring that she’s soaking through his t-shirt as she cries.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she mumbles, pulling away, and he pulls off her hat and strokes her hair.

“As long as you’re okay,” he says, kissing the top of her head and she nods.

“You might want to go and apologise to Luke as well, he was very worried,” Aramis tells her as he heads toward the kitchen. If she didn’t spill her guts and tell him immediately where she had been, as she always did when she did something wrong, she wasn’t going to tell him until she wanted to- which could be in a month’s time. She would, however, tell Luke everything- not that Aramis would get Luke to tell him- but he was happy knowing that she wouldn’t bottle it up.

Celeste stood in the corridor, looking at her bedroom door. If Luke hadn’t come out yet, it meant he was pissed off, and he would tell her so when she went in. She bit her lip and wiped her eyes, pulling out her phone to look at her missed messages.

_Message from Luke  
Celeste where are you I’m outside your classroom_

_Message from Luke  
Seriously Celeste what the hell I’ve been looking for you everywhere_

_Missed calls from Luke (3)_

_Message from Luke  
Pick up the fucking phone where are you_

_Missed calls from Aramis (4)_

_Missed calls from Porthos (4)_

“Celeste,” she hears Porthos say, and tucks her phone back into her pocket. He’s looked up from his book and his looking at her. “You going to go and talk to Luke?”

She gulps, “I will in a minute.”

“Come sit with me then, instead of standing there like a lemon,” he teases. It’s not as easy as usual, he sounds crosser than Aramis, but she does as she’s told and sits next to him, her bag between her feet.

“You always tell Luke where you’re going.” Porthos says, not looking at her, but he leans his head toward her.

“He wouldn’t have liked it,” she says quietly.

Porthos nods. “How bad was what you were doing?” Celeste doesn’t say anything so Porthos continues. “Nothing illegal?”

“No, Porthos, nothing illegal.”

“You shouldn’t have worried your Papa like that. Or me. Or Luke. We were very scared something bad had happened.”

“Did D’Artagnan say what we talked about?”

Porthos raises an eyebrow. “Yes, he did. About you being like Tarzan.”

Celeste sighs and rubs her temple. Porthos can’t help but notice how similar her gestures are to Aramis’. “I went to the orphanage. To see Elodie.”

“Why wouldn’t Luke have liked that?”

“I went to ask about my real parents.”

“That’s not a bad thing. He wouldn’t have thought it was a bad thing.”

“But it is! Kind of. Because it’s not like I actually want to know anything about them, I just want to know where I’m from.”

“I see.”

“And Luke would have said it doesn’t matter and that it doesn’t define me and I know that but I still wanted to know.”

Porthos is quiet for a minute. Celeste counts. “So what did you find out?”

“That there was a letter from my mother,” she says the word weirdly, like it doesn’t fit in her mouth, “Which I figured Aramis didn’t know the full contents of because otherwise I think he would have said something.”

“Probably.”

“And that I might actually be able to find out where I’m from. Because there are characters in a language that I don’t know.” She pulls out the piece of scrap paper to show Porthos. “She said she ran from this- I assume it's a place." Porthos nods sagely before handing the piece of paper back to her.

“I think you should go and apologise to Luke, and then tell Aramis what is going on, don’t you?”

Celeste nods and hugs Porthos, kissing his cheek as a way of saying _thank you for understanding_.

-

She does tell Luke and Aramis, and explains everything. Aramis promises her that he only knew that the letter said her name and her birthday. She believes him.

That evening, when everyone else has gone to bed, Luke, Aramis and Porthos stay up with her to find out what the characters mean.

“Samraong,” Celeste finally finds out- it’s nearly midnight when she does. “She ran from Samraong. In Cambodia.”

“Wikipedia says it means ‘impenetrable jungle’,” Luke reads from the screen over her shoulder. “So really, you are Tarzan- just, kind of, in reverse?”

Celeste punches his arm for that, but she has a relieved smile on her face. Porthos thinks she looks lighter than she has in weeks.

“And with that, I think we should all head to bed,” Aramis yawns, taking the laptop from the children and shutting it down before kissing them goodnight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long chapter, I hope you liked it!


	19. The Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance has the baby.

Nannette and Adalyn aren’t that fond of hospitals, and neither is Rene. It smells funny and people look sad- and last time they were here they were sad, because everyone was worried about Luke. So when Papa told them to put on their coats because they are going to the hospital, Nannette and Addy make sure to check that everyone is at home, and everyone is okay. And everyone is, so why are they going?

“To see Aunty Constance,” Papa says, as Nannette struggles with her shoe. Addy would help, but she’s put hers on the wrong feet and needs to switch them around again. Luke and Celeste come to help them.

“Is Aunty Constance sick?” Nannette asks. They saw her two sleeps ago, and she seemed fine then. But she had said “uncomfortable”- and “uncomfortable” was not good. But Leon didn’t go to the hospital when he was “uncomfortable”, which was a few times a week, he just moved away from the loud noises because he doesn’t like them.

“No, ma petite chou, she is going to have a baby,” Porthos explains kindly as Papa is preoccupied with helping Leon with his coat. Luke and Celeste have finished fixing their shoes, so they roll over and push themselves off the floor to get up. Nannette pats down her hair, and Addy tugs at Porthos’ hand.

“But babies don’t come from the hospital- you get them from the orphanage, like Nen and Leon and me and Luke and Celeste and Leon came from the orphanage. Or the doctor comes to your house and gives you the baby- that’s how Anne got Louis- that’s what Louis said his mama said.” Porthos laughs and lifts Adalyn into his arms, and she knows she’s not laughing at him but she’s still confused. Nannette wants to get lifted too, so Luke carries her and Celeste holds Rene’s hand as Papa and Leon lock the door behind them.

“Aunty Constance’s baby is in her tummy, ma cherie, so she has to go to the hospital so the doctor can get the baby out,” Porthos says, and Nen looks horrified.

“She ate the baby?!”

Luke and Celeste cannot stop laughing- but Addy doesn’t think it’s funny.

“No, no, the baby grew inside her, and now it’s big enough to come out and meet all of you lot,” Papa tells them, stroking Nen’s hair and then Addy’s.  Nen seems satisfied with the answer, and goes to chat to Luke about something or other- Addy thinks it’s the baby’s name, or whether it’s a boy or a girl, she’s not paying attention because she’s thinking. Porthos doesn’t mind her being quiet, he’s talking to Papa.

They get on the train and Nen sits on Luke and and Addy sits on Porthos. Leon and Rene want to stand which means Celeste and Papa have to stand. Addy turns to Porthos and taps his face so he looks at her.

“How did the baby get there?”

“Pardon, ma coeur?”

“How did the baby get in Aunty Constance’s tummy, Porthos?” Addy repeats loudly, and she doesn’t see Celeste and Luke laughing, or Rene’s confusion, or Leon looking awkward, or Papa giving Porthos a _look_ , and she certainly doesn’t see the other people on the train looking at them all.

“How about I tell you later, if you really want to know?” he says quietly, and Addy crosses her arms. Nen speaks up now.

“Yeah, how Porthos?”

More people are looking, but the twins still don’t notice. Everyone else does though.

“Magic,” Porthos says after a second, and Luke and Celeste snort with laughter, as do the rest of the passengers on the train.

“Can you do that magic of having the baby inside your tummy?”

“No, Addy, I cannot do that magic. Only women can do that magic.”

“So will I do that magic when I’m older?”

“Only if you want to.”

 Celeste smirks and mutters something like “teaching consent from an early age,” and Papa nudges her and gives her a look, as if he’s about to tell her off, but he doesn’t.

The rest of the train ride is fairly uneventful on the way to the hospital; Nen says she feels sick and Leon distracts her by playing “I spy” so then she’s okay, and then the twins ask question after question about babies.

When they get to the hospital, it still smells funny, but they walk past the colourful children’s ward where the adults look sad, and into a different place, where there are lots of people looking very happy, though some looked worried. Athos is there with two bunches of flowers. He hands one to Papa when they go up to him.

“These are for you to give to her and D’Art,” he says, and Papa thanks him, saying he’ll pay him back, but Athos shakes his head. “No exchanging money on such a good day.”

“So Luke can’t give me the money I’m owed if I win the bet?” Celeste says with a pout.

“I thought we only agreed to chores!”

Celeste pauses and minces her words. “Nooo… definitely said ten euros too…”

“What did you bet?” asks Porthos.

“The baby, obviously- whether it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Then definitely no money and only chores,” says Aramis, and Celeste pouts again.

“Shall we?” Athos interrupts, and Nen and Addy wriggle down the lengths of Luke and Porthos respectively, and charge into the room.

“Can we see the baby!” they ask as they enter the room, and it’s meant to be a question but it sounds like a demand. Constance is smiling at a little yellow bundle in her arms, and D’Artagnan is sitting next to her, with his arms around her shoulders. Constance beams as she sees her friends and their children. She looks exhausted and radiant all at the same time, and D’Artagnan is grinning so wide it must hurt.

“This is Amelie,” Constance says quietly as the twins climb onto the bed beside her to look at the baby, and D’Artagnan moves away so that everyone can crowd around his wife and daughter. Celeste is looking smug, and says something to Luke about winning, and he sticks his tongue out at her. Porthos and Aramis kiss Constance's cheeks, and then all their children do the same, congratulating her and telling her that Amelie is beautiful. She is beautiful, just like her mother, and D’Artagnan has never felt more in love in his whole life. 

“No complications?” Athos asks quietly as he hugs D’Artagnan, and D’Artagnan shakes his head. Aramis and Porthos come to congratulate him too, but all the children remain crowded around his wife and daughter.

“She’s asleep,” says Nannette bluntly and disappointedly, and Constance smiles.

“She’s very sleepy, being born is very tiring,” she teases, bopping Nannette’s nose. Nen scrunches up her nose and rubs it with the back of her hand. Addy nods sagely, like she understands what that means.

“Can I hold her?” Porthos asks, and Constance hands him the baby. It’s quite obvious that the twins get jealous, as immediately they latch onto Porthos, much to everyone’s amusement. After a while, Porthos hands her to Aramis, and then Aramis back to Constance. Everyone says that something of her’s looks like something of her parent’s, and Leon says that Amelie just looks like Amelie, a little confused.  
 A nurse walks past at that point, doing a double take, and seems shocked to see so many people.

“Oh now this is too many, come on now, out, out, you can come in a few at a time.”

Everyone sighs, and they all look at each other, asking silently whose turn it is first. The twins fold their arms and pout, so that means they stay. Luke groans and takes Leon’s hand, and Celeste takes Rene’s. Aramis and Porthos clap Athos on the back.

“You okay staying with the princess twins?” Aramis asks, and Athos smiles.

“Of course.”

D’Artagnan picks up the flowers, and Aramis and Porthos pick up a vase each from either bedside table.

“We’ll go fill these up.”

They all leave, and soon it’s just Athos and Constance left with Amelie and the twins.

“Well done, Constance,” Athos says quietly, and kisses her head as the twins continue to ogle at the tiny human. It occurs to him then that they probably don’t remember ever seeing such a tiny baby, and may have only glimpsed at one in public- they never would have fully taken in the marvel of new life. Constance smiles and asks if Athos will take Amelie from her and put her in the crib next to her. Athos does, taking a minute to smile down at the tiny thing in a yellow hat- a gift from him at the baby shower. He almost cries.

The twins follow him and stand on either side of the crib, to watch the baby after he puts her down. When he turns, Constance has her eyes closed, and he looks so peaceful he doesn’t disturb her. He sits in the chair next to the bed and holds her hand, which she smiles at. It’s very quiet for a while, until he hears Adalyn speak. He can only tell which twin it is because she has a slight lisp that becomes more evident when she’s trying to be quiet.

“Your mama, who we call Aunty Constance, but you have to call her mama, makes very nice cakes, Amelie. I hope you like cake.”

The twins aren’t aware that he’s watching them.

“She’s only a baby, she can’t eat cake, she can only have milk.” frowns Nannette.

“Your mama makes very good milky hot chocolate too,” says Adalyn to Amelie. Nannette nods in agreement. “She’s very cute, isn’t she?” Addy says to her twin, and Nen nods.

“She is very cute. And very small. I don’t think she’ll be able to play with us yet.”

“No, not yet.”

Constance is watching the two of them now, and she squeezes Athos’ hand.

“Everyone loves you very very much, forever, baby Amelie,” says Nannette, and reaches into the crib to stroke over Amelie’s hand with one of her fingers. She quietly gasps when the baby moves.

Addy adds to Nannette’s declaration of love “Yes, we all do. Luke, Celeste, Rene, us, your Mama and Papa, Uncle Athos, our Papa and Fa-”

Constance squeezes Athos’ hand, and he turns to her. She’s got an eyebrow raised and a smirk. Athos smirks back and they turn to listen to the twins again.

“But you have to call Papa ‘Uncle Aramis’ and Fa ‘Uncle Porthos’- but that one won’t be hard to forget because we still call Fa ‘Porthos’ when we talk to him, because we don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Constance seems to melt, and Athos is looking at the twins softly.

“I think Porthos would like it very much if you called him Fa,” he says, and the noise makes the twins jump. After their initial shock, they look at him crossly.

“You’re going to wake her up if you talk so loudly, Uncle Athos!” Nannette tells him, and he sincerely apologises. It’s then that D’Artagnan comes back in with Aramis to put down the vases, and Aramis tells the twins they have to switch with Leon and Celeste now. They grumble a lot as they leave. As Athos follows, he leans in to whisper to Aramis.

“They told Amelie that Porthos is their ‘Fa’.”

Aramis bites his lip and smiles, and before he can say anything, Athos has walked out of the door.


	20. I fight your fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are big brother's for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: potential trigger words

Athos usually did not mind babysitting. Usually, the kids were really well behaved. Usually, he had D’Art and Constance with him- but they are at home with their own tiny three month old baby. Aramis and Porthos were out on a date, and hadn’t wanted to leave Luke and Celeste in charge alone. On the phone it had sounded quite ominous, “I just don’t think it is wise”, but now Athos understood.

It had started with the twins fighting over a book. Nothing Athos hadn’t handled before- if Nanette had it first, she could read it first and she would have it until the big hand on the clock reached the six. It was peaceful for maybe five minutes. Rene wanted to watch something else, but Adalyn was watching a repeat of a programme. Rene could record his programme and watch it while Adalyn was reading. Athos sat on the sofa, reaching for his mug of coffee. He might need some more if he was going to get through the night. Apparently, it had been like this all day according to Porthos. Athos was sure his friends had the patience of saints.

He finished his coffee, and surveyed the room before deciding it was safe to go and make himself some more. He was boiling the kettle when there was a gentle tap on his elbow.

“Uncle Athos?”

“Oui, Leon?”

“Luke and Celeste are being very very loud.” Athos wondered how he hadn’t noticed their shouting, because he heard it now. He sat Leon down with his art things at the kitchen table, and shut the door so it was quiet for him. He made sure to move the hot kettle out of reach.

He couldn’t quite tell what the teenagers were saying through the door and down the corridor, but Celeste’s high pitched screech was enough to make him hurry up toward the bedroom.

“This is _nothing_ like that!”

Athos cracked open the door to see the two of them standing inches apart, red in the face.

“What, _lying_ to _your family_? It’s exactly the same!”

Athos knew about this- he thinks- when Celeste went on an adventure to find out about her past. Are they talking about this incident or a different one? No one seemed angry about that. She seemed to have gotten it into her head that people- especially Luke- would judge her for it. Teenage anxieties make you think irrationally. Luke hadn’t minded at all. He understood the importance of roots more than a lot of people.

“I told everyone where I was and who I was with when I got home!”

“I wasn’t exactly _with_ anyone!” Luke said, and Celeste raised her hand to slap him before she seemed to decide against it.

“I can’t believe you lied to me.”

“Look it just never came up okay?”

“In a house where we have Aramis and Porthos who ask every single day “how was school” and you thought it would never come up?”

 _So it’s something else_ , Athos thinks. He feels wrong just listening, but also he doesn’t want to interrupt if they can sort it out themselves.

“I didn’t want to cause them to worry!”

“That’s fair enough but still you never told me?” Celeste says, quieter now, and she sounds hurt. She reaches up to touch his face and he hisses as she does. He doesn’t look hurt?

She looks at her hand, and there’s make-up on it. “How much of my stuff are you using to cover up every morning?”

“A lot.”

Celeste walks towards the door, and Athos thinks about running, but realistically he wouldn’t get away fast enough. She seems shocked to see him standing there when she opened the door.

“You weren’t exactly being quiet. Leon started to panic.”

Both of them look guilty, and Celeste slips past him, muttering something about make up wipes. Athos walks into the room and sits himself at the desk chair. Luke seems a little at loss for words.

“So what happned?”

“Nothing.”

“So why are you covered in make up?”

“I got punched.”

Athos thinks this is like drawing a blood out of a stone, and he can’t help thinking of Porthos and Aramis after every time they had a fight or got into a fight. Monosyllabic answers; usually very defensive; not very helpful in clearing up the problem.

“Who punched you?”

“Some shit at school.”

“Why?”

“What are you, the Spanish Inquisition?”

“That’s Aramis. You tell me or you tell him.”

Celeste comes in at that point and pushes Luke to sit down on the bed as she starts to wipe his face with make-up wipes, slowly revealing a couple of very purple, rather large bruises around his eye and across his cheekbone.

“I cannot believe you kept this hidden that well. That’s a lot of make-up. You know how much money that is?” Celeste says, and her words are angry but she just sounds sad.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

Athos rolls his eyes at the two of them, and repeats his question. Luke looks at him, completely expressionless.

“Because I have faggot dads and a fat slag sister and a spaz brother and another tranny brother who dresses like a girl.” Luke gets angrier as he speaks, “Rene is tiny, for fucks sake, who cares how he dresses! No one gives a shit at that age!”

“Language!” Celeste admonishes, and Athos can’t help but notice her wince and sideways glance at him. She swallows and mumbles again. “Just because I’ve been caught kissing different people I’m not a slag.”

“It’s the words they used. That’s not even all of them.”

“Who’s they?” Athos asks.

“Same kids it always is.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“A year.”

“A year?!” Celeste screeches. “You’ve been covering up your face like this for a year?!”

“No. It’s not usually my face.”

“Who the fuck is it I am going to fight them!”

“Celeste-” Athos says, but he’s ignored as Luke speaks.

“Why do you think you haven’t had to fight them until now? I am fighting them for you! I always have so you don’t get hurt you idiot!”

Celeste looks guilty but also indignant and Athos doesn’t quite understand how so many emotions fit on her face at once.

“I can fight my own fights.”

“I fight your fights so you don’t have to. They could do worse to you than they can to me.”

Celeste gulps. Her big brother is right and she knows it. He’s a foot taller than her, and more muscle. She can fight with words better than him- Aramis has proudly shown Athos the letters she gets home from school about ‘causing scenes in class’ which seems to be teacher code for standing up against institutional racism and homophobia- but she’s not much good for actual fights, even if she is quite strong.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Luke says, and he sounds broken. Celeste wraps him in a bear hug, and Athos clears his throat.

“I think you two are going to have to learn when to pick your fights.”

“Maybe,” they grumble in unison.

“And also start telling Aramis and Porthos when things like this happen.”

“Probably,” Luke shrugs. Celeste just keeps him wrapped in a bear hug.

Athos leaves with a nod at that point to go and check on the others. He’ll let Aramis and Porthos deal with this. Maybe. He might take it up with the school- he was a governor after all.


	21. Till the stars turn cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis ruins his surprise.

Porthos couldn’t quite believe how clueless Aramis was. He had been dropping hints for months now, about proposing, and yet Aramis didn’t even blink. Not a hint of a smile; no excited clapping- nothing.

_It was date night, and Athos had agreed to look after the kids while Aramis took Porthos to see an old favourite of theirs, ‘Rebecca’, at an outdoor cinema. It was spring, and it was just starting to warm up- but it wasn’t quite warm enough to not need a blanket to snuggle up under. Aramis had been very sweet and organised a picnic- wine, cheese, grapes, bread- it was very Parisian and Porthos enjoyed over-playing the stereotypes of themselves far too much._

_He was quiet as the film started, letting Aramis lie back into him- right up until Laurence Olivier’s ever-so-romantic proposal: “I’m asking you to marry me, you little fool.”_

_“What if I proposed like that?” Porthos whispered to his boyfriend._

_Aramis didn’t even dignify his tease with an answer- he just threw a grape at him. He missed spectacularly for someone with such fantastic aim._

That was also the day he and Aramis found out about the fights Luke had been getting into. Apparently, since they didn’t happen on school property, and there hadn’t been any obvious harm (until now) the school had not done much else apart from put Luke and his _attackers_ (as Aramis labelled them- with more venom in his words than a snake) in detention, hoping they’d learn their lesson. Apparently they’d tried to get the boys to talk it out, and offered counselling- but bigotry is bigotry (as Celeste pointed out).

That week, the school issued a public statement saying that behaviour of such a kind would not be tolerated. Some parents practically flew in to argue their religious rights and freedom of speech. They were removed from the premises, along with their children, permanently, by one of the school governors. They’d been told this particular man was very passionate about sorting out the issue- apparently his usual approach was “logical” and his demeanour “amiable at best”.

Porthos sat on the floor by the bed, his legs stretched out and feet planted against the wall. He had his phone in one hand, and a small, dark red velvet box in the other. His phone pinged.

_How has he not got it that you’re proposing?  
(Sent by D’Art at 18:27)_

_You literally asked for his ring size. Brbbb._  
_(Sent by D’Art at 18:28)_

‘Brbbb’- be right back because baby. It had become a code he and Constance used all the time. 

_Porthos lay next to Aramis, who seemed to be slipping in and out of sleep. He placed his huge hand against Aramis’, palm to palm._

_“What ring size are you?” He whispered, intertwining his fingers with Aramis’- it was late and the kids had surprisingly good hearing. He kissed Aramis’ knuckles._

_“Which finger which hand?” Aramis mumbled, a hint of a smile graced his face as he felt Porthos’ kiss._

_“Ring finger, left hand. Which else?”_

_“Size 7. Yours is size 10.”_

_“How do you know that? I didn’t know that.”_

_“In the tent.”_

_“What?”_

_Aramis started to gently snore._

Porthos had been left baffled- he did not remember having this discussion ever- in the tent meant when they were on duty. How the hell did Aramis remember that? It was such an insignificant detail.

_Porthos was whimpering- Aramis seemed to be the only one who had noticed. He carefully climbed out of his bunk and into Porthos’- they were so close their noses were touching, but Aramis was still falling off slightly. The bed was too small for Porthos plus half let alone Porthos plus one. He stroked a hand down Porthos’ arm, and intertwined his fingers with his own._

_“I’ve got you- not real not real not real- wake up, Porthos.”_

_He kept talking, stroking his thumb across Porthos’ knuckles and wiping the sweat off his face. Porthos didn’t wake up, but he did stop whimpering and his face relaxed- nightmare over. Aramis continued to explore Porthos’ hand with his own- size 10 rings he estimated. A party trick of his he’d picked up as a kid- they had lived next door to a jeweller after all._

Porthos was still puzzling over when he and Aramis had discussed their ring sizes as he replied to D’Artangnan, and Aramis walked into the room.

“Why are you on the floor?”

Porthos had never jumped to his feet so fast in his life. He sacrificed his phone, which he let drop to the floor, for the ring box, which was firmly clenched in his hand behind him. Aramis assessed his stance.

“No reason?”

“Nice try.” Aramis went to pick up Porthos’ phone as it pinged. Porthos dropped, snatching his phone from Aramis’ grasp and hitting their heads together in the process.

“Mi Dios- what are you hiding?!” Aramis exclaimed as he rose up to his full height, rubbing his head.

“Nothing?”

“Nice try. What are you hiding Porthos?”

“That is for me to know and you to find out?”

Aramis smirked and sauntered up to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist, grabbing for his hands. He pouted and looked up at Porthos.

“Oh come on, mon amore, tell me?”

Porthos gulped and shook his head. Aramis smirked and slid his hands up Porthos’ back and down his sides, gliding over all his ticklish spots.

“It must be something big then. Maybe an engagement ring?”

Porthos froze, his eyes going wide. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to figure out what to say. He knew he looked scared but before he could correct his expression, Aramis stood back, looking hurt.

“I’m sorry I scared you- you’ve been saying for ages but I didn’t realise you were just joking,” he muttered, before sucking in a breath and leaving the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck!” Porthos exclaimed. He dropped his phone and ran out of the room after Aramis. The flat wasn’t that big- he was fairly easy to find. He was sat on the floor of the living room, with all of the kids. There was an abandoned pile of cards in the middle of the circle they made.

“That’s not what I meant,” Porthos said quietly from the doorway, and the kids all turned to look at him. They were all very quiet.

“Not now,” Aramis said- distinctly not looking at him.

“No- now.”

“Children-” Aramis started but Porthos shook his head.

“They can stay.”

Aramis turned to him and looked at him like he was mad. Why would he want them to witness a fight? He got up off the floor and faced Porthos. Before he could open his mouth Porthos had crossed the room in two strides and was now very close.

“That was not what I meant. I look scared because you’d guessed right and ruined my surprise.”

“What?”

“You ruined his surprise, Papa,” Leon said clearly and slowly. Aramis turned to him to try and explain, thinking Leon had misunderstood, but he was grinning, as were the rest of his children. He frowned and turned back to Porthos. Aramis’ mouth fell open as Porthos pulled out the little velvet box from behind his back.

“I’ve been thinking about how I should do this. I was going to do a big surprise proposal, in a fancy restaurant on date night- but it wouldn’t be right without all the children there. They are our hearts- our lives- they had to be here. So I thought how about at a dinner, when we’re all together, with the rest of our family and friends. But Aramis, my love, you guessed what was happening too early.”

Aramis was caught between laughing and crying as Porthos dropped to one knee.

“I’m not done yet.”

“But FA-”

“Not yet Addy! Shush!” Nen cries, and the others giggle quietly. Porthos continues with a shaky breath.

“You and our children are my everything. You are my home, my joy, my teachers, and my greatest passion- I could not survive without you. You, Aramis- have always been there for me, even when I did not know it- and I intend to be there for you for the rest of our lives. I have loved you, and I love you now, and I will always love you.”

“Porthos,” Rene interrupted, “that’s a Whitney Houston song.” Celeste grappled him into a hug and told him to be quiet. Aramis was laughing as he wiped away a tear. Porthos opened the box and pulled out the ring, holding it up between them. He didn’t even get to “pop the question” as Aramis dropped to his knees and kissed Porthos over and over.

“I’ll marry you, a thousand times over, I’ll marry you,” he grinned as Porthos took his hand to put the ring on his finger. They couldn’t be sure, but they might have heard someone go “finally!” Once he did, they were pushed over as the twins barrelled into them, and then everyone else.

There was a barrage of noise, of laughter and chatter, and Leon wriggled out to sit next to them.

“Does this mean we can call Porthos ‘Fa’ officially now?”- Leon

“If we want to. Realistically he’s always been our Fa.” - Celeste

“Nen I can’t breathe get off my ribs!” -Luke

“Celeste you’re squishing me!” -Adalyn

“Does this mean we get to be bride’s maids?” – Nannette

“Groom’s maids silly!”- Rene

Porthos and Aramis laughed through it all, and Porthos grabbed Aramis’ hand and kissed him again.

“I’ll love you till the stars turn cold, and even after that,” Porthos whispered, and Aramis knew it was a promise that would not be broken.

“And even after that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap folks! I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry for the long wait for the end!

**Author's Note:**

> My first work published here. I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!


End file.
